Dulce et Decorum Est
by bookwormshame
Summary: In the aftermath of the Second War, the Dark Arts are viciously punished. An old law is revived, allowing the accused to be given as virtual slaves to "sponsors of the Light" to be rehabilitated. What will happen when Harry Potter finds himself the reluctant sponsor of Draco Malfoy? And how far will the Wizarding World fall before our heroes are forced to step in and save it again?
1. Chapter 1

_Standard Disclaimers Apply: I don't own Harry Potter, and unfortunately I never ever will. _

_Warning: Plot in progress, who knows where this thing will go..._

_Also, I am aware that this is a common story line- I'm hoping to make it interesting enough that you'll want to keep reading anyway! And as this is a WiP, I'm always open to suggestions via reviews! :)_

_Also, I'm calling this Chapter One, but it's really a prologue- keep reading to get actual action! :)  
_

* * *

**Chapter One**

The Wizarding world had changed since the end of the Second War.

The changes were subtle. At first, the public enthusiastically backed the new laws that were emerging, laws that were supposed to keep them safe. The Death Eaters that had fled were slowly tracked down one by one to face harsher punishments than the average criminals. Stripped of most basic rights, those that bore the dormant but still visible Dark Mark were tried, imprisoned, and publically Kissed in front of jeering crowds.

Some were quick to be caught- the Carrows, Antonin Dolohov, and Walden Macnair, among others. Some hid for weeks or months before being discovered. And of course, everyone remembered the June day that Crabbe Sr, cornered in Diagon Alley, went mad and blew up half the street before being crushed by falling debris. Six civilians, including four year old Annalise Shaw, died that day.

Annalise Shaw became the poster child for the New Law. Outraged and terrified of the danger still present, the public demanded more from the Ministry- more protection, more arrests, more punishments. And the Ministry, weak and uncertain in the wake of the chaos left by Voldemort, latched onto the cause as something to unite the nation.

All those associated with the Dark Arts, now labelled Dark Ones, trembled in fear. By July, Knockturn Alley was closed down, with shopkeepers arrested and thrown in Azkaban. The Dementors had been removed, and only a few still existed for Kissing purposes, but the jailers remained as vicious as ever. And a new torture for prisoners was introduced- boggarts were put in every cell.

Silencing Charms became necessary for the jailers to keep their sanity. Mass graves were introduced, as most of the prisoners quickly went insane in the face of their greatest fears and killed themselves or starved to death. It made room for the ever-incoming prisoners.

Families of Death Eaters began to be arrested under charges of aiding and abetting fugitives, even if they claimed they had not seen their Dark One in years. Children in these families were placed with other couples to be raised and educated properly, away from the influence of their Dark blood.

Purebloods were the next targets. In the early months, those that were not arrested for suspicion of Dark activity had most of their wealth stripped from them under the reasoning that their "support" was needed to help rebuild the Ministry. The intelligent purebloods fled abroad to wait for the fervour to die down, and slowly returned to their homes only after the Ministry had moved its focus to the next targets.

As eager as the public was to condemn the Dark Ones to keep themselves safe from a new Dark Lord, practicality eventuality had to settle in. Even with the suicides and starvations, Azkaban quickly filled to maximum capacity. The number of Dark Ones to be Kissed was so great, many would wait years to reach their fate. And the vast number of people fleeing the country for fear of being targeted, purebloods and muggleborns alike, was starting to attract the attention and disapproval of outside governments, who began closing off communication with Britain. Policies had to change.

In August, an ancient law was remembered, one that satisfied the masses and solved all of their problems. Stretching back to the days of the feudal system, the law stated that any found guilty of performing "Magicks moste darke" were to be stripped of their vassal status and to be given in indentured servitude to whomever the Lord deemed worthy, to be educated and rehabilitated by their Light Lords. Adapting this law, the Ministry allowed those who had performed the least of Dark Arts to be given as servants to the heroes of the war and the "beacons of light." Finally, the public was calm, happy in the knowledge that the Dark Ones were being punished, and that free labour was available if one was able to prove their worth. Many minor Death Eaters and possessors of Dark artefacts were the first to be removed from Azkaban and placed on a list to be picked up, like cattle, by their "Light sponsors."

Which is how on August 18th, two weeks before Hogwarts was set to re-open, Draco Malfoy came to find himself shackled to a chair in an empty white room in the Ministry, awaiting his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Harry Potter loved Hermione Granger like the sister he had never had. But if she sent him one more owl begging him to consider returning to Hogwarts in the fall, he would hex her hands off.

He understood her concern, he really did. All of their friends were returning to Hogwarts as "8th year" students, to repeat the year they had lost. The construction of the school had finally finished a few weeks ago, and everyone was excited to return to some bit of normalcy and focus on something aside from all the death and terror they had only recently lived through. Students were shopping in (what was left of) Diagon Alley, summer homework was quickly being finished, and end of the summer parties were being held.

The idea of being around that many people made Harry want to vomit.

A noise from the Floo made Harry glance up disinterestedly from the latest letter he held. He watched, mildly curious, as the fireplace spitted and sparked various colours as whoever was trying to break his wards fought desperately. After a moment, though, the fire went out with a puff of smoke and Harry swore he could hear the echo of Hermione swearing.

He was impressed- she had been trying for eight days to break into Grimmauld Place, where he had been holed up ever since his disastrous birthday party two weeks ago. He had told Hermione and the Weasleys over and over that he did not want a party, was not in the mood to celebrate. Of course, they ignored him with the best of intentions, though Harry was sure they regretted that decision when Harry accidentally blew up the cake and set fire to Neville's robes after being startled by their "Surprise!"

He had mumbled an apology and, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the Weasley's house, immediately Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, quickly setting up the strongest wards he knew on his house and finally enjoying the solitude. A silencing spell on the door allowed him to ignore the knocking, an anti-mail spell kept the owls from pestering him, and anti-Apparation spells were up. Still, Hermione kept finding ways to sneak him letters, pleading with him to let them in or come out. He had no idea how she had gotten this latest owl in though.

A sharp peck on his hand reminded him that he had yet to give the bird a treat. With a sigh, he stood and walked to the kitchen, grabbing some leftover owl treats to feed it. A nibble and a soft hoot later and the bird was gone.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, exhausted. Although it was the afternoon, he had not slept properly for months, between his jerking awake at any small noise and the nightmares that had him jolting awake screaming and sobbing. That was another reason he wanted to be left alone- from the sidelong glances Ron had been giving him, Harry knew he was starting to scare him in the room they shared at the Burrow.

Eventually, he knew he would have to leave, he couldn't stay hidden in the dusty and dark old place forever. But honestly, he just wanted them to bloody leave him alone until he was ready, dammit.

Glancing back down at Hermione's latest guilt-trip, he noticed the letter was much fatter than usual. Did she really think that writing _more_ would change his mind? Curious, he opened the letter and was surprised when something fell out.

Bending over, Harry saw she had slipped him the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. Why in Merlin's name would she think he wanted to read this? He hadn't picked up a single copy of the rag all summer- in fact, he hadn't ventured out into the public much at all since the Battle of Hogwarts, preferring to stay indoors and try desperately to forget the rest of the world existing.

Frowning, he placed the Prophet on the kitchen table and opened her letter, wondering what was so important that she felt the need to include a copy of the Daily Waste.

_Dear Harry,_

_Please don't throw away this letter before reading it, as I know you've been doing with the others. I understand that you're not ready to go back to Hogwarts, I really do, and I promise to stop mentioning it. But please, won't you lower your wards? We just want to talk to you, and make sure you're ok. We really are sorry about the party, we thought a little celebration would help cheer you up. Neville isn't angry at all, by the way, and his hair is growing back quite well. _

_Harry, I know we've all been a bit- preoccupied- since the Battle, but I think you really need to take look at the Prophet. Something is going on in the Wizarding world, and even though Ron keeps saying it's just people trying to fix things and move on, I don't think he's right. Something's wrong, Harry. Just look at the new laws they've been implementing! It's horrible!_

_Molly wants to know if you're eating, and says she knows you're legally an adult and can make your own decisions, but really wants you to come back if you can forgive us. She's still taking the loss of Fred hard, Harry, and we're all a bit concerned for her. I think it would really help if you came back, you know she loves doting on you. _

_I hope you're reading this, and I hope you know how much we all love you. We're just so worried, Harry. We want to see our friend again. We can help, you know- it's not all on you to just get over everything we went through. Ron and I were there, remember? I've been reading some books on something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I think we all need someone to talk to. Every book I've read says the worst thing you can do is be alone. Please, let us in?_

_Floo us as soon as you can, love Hermione_

_P.S. We've been getting all your mail, as your wards won't let most of it in, and just throwing out all the junk that people are sending. But there was a letter from the Ministry in there that looked important, so I included it in this letter- it's folded up in the middle of the Prophet._

Harry growled in frustration, crumpling up Hermione's letter and bowing his head. He squeezed his eyes shut before letting out a gusty sigh, relaxing and attempting to flatten out the letter. He knew Hermione meant well, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk to some bloody Mind Healer about the war, or get involved in Ministry politics, or accept whatever latest award the Ministry wanted to use to show off their Golden Boy. He just wanted to be left alone; why could no one understand that?

Swearing, Harry grabbed his wand and stormed upstairs to the room he had warded to withstand his magical temper tantrums. As he brushed by, the Prophet fell off the table. The letter from the Ministry fluttered out and fell, seal up and gleaming, on the kitchen floor.

* * *

_Author's Note: I know this story is getting off to a bit of a slow start, but trust me, it will pick up soon! I don't know how often I will be updating; unfortunately, it will probably be sporadic. But remember, reviews make authors happy, and happiness = story! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: Yes, my clever readers, this title is taken from Wilfred Owen's poem _Dulce et Decorum Est_. If you want, go read it, it's an amazing (but sad) war poem.**  
**_

_Despite crossing my fingers and wishing on a star, I still do not own Harry Potter. *tears*  
_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"I don't think he's ready to talk yet, 'Mione," Ron Weasley mumbled with his mouth full, watching his girlfriend pace back and forth in the kitchen of the Burrow. She was muttering to herself, shooting angry glances toward the sitting room where the empty fireplace lay.

"Of course he's not ready to talk yet," Hermione snapped. "None of us are ready to talk yet. But he isn't even letting us see him! What if something's wrong? How are we supposed to know if he needs us?"

"Maybe he doesn't need us right now," Ron said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "Maybe he just needs, y'know, some space?"

Hermione glared at him. "We are going back to Hogwarts soon Ronald," she ground out. "He will have all the space he needs then, since he's made it perfectly clear that he won't be joining us. I would like to talk to my friend _before_ that happens to make sure he isn't completely losing his mind after everything he's been through!"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Ron soothed, biting into his sandwich. "E knows 'ere 'oo find us when 'e 'ants 'oo talk."

Hermione gave him a look of fond exasperation. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron. It's a disgusting habit."

"Yes mum," he muttered.

Hermione puffed up, ready to launch into a lecture, but was cut off when Mrs. Weasley herself walked in.

"Good morning, dears," she said cheerfully, walking over to the sink. "Anything particular you want for breakfast?"

Hermione deflated, sharing a concerned look with Ron. His mother had spent a week in bed, refusing to see anyone, and when she finally emerged she was as cheerful as if she hadn't lost a son. But aside from her demeanour, something about her was always just a bit- off.

"It's after noon, mum," Ron said carefully, gesturing to his plate. "See? I made myself a sandwich and everything."

Hermione snorted. Glancing at her, he admitted, "Well, Hermione made it for me, but I told her what I like."

Mrs. Weasley blinked, looking momentarily lost. However, she quickly brightened and smiled, "Of course it is, silly me! Well, I should make up a basket to send to Harry, Merlin knows he probably isn't eating enough in that dusty old house!" And with that, she wandered away, humming brightly to herself.

Ron buried his head in his arms as soon as she was gone. Hermione hurried over, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and murmuring, "Oh Ron, give her time, she's just not coping well right now."

Ron raised his head, bitterness splashed across his face. "Yeah," he said, "Between my father practically living in the Ministry these days, Harry being MIA, and my mum forgetting where and when she is, I'd say none of us are coping well." He shoved away from the table, storming out of the room and leaving half a plate of food uneaten. Hermione stared after him sadly, before glancing again at the fireplace in the sitting room. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "Oh Harry… We need you here."

* * *

Harry finally stopped blowing things up when the dust was so thick he couldn't even see what he was aiming at. Coughing, he waved in front of his pace, peering around the room to see the damage.

The room was obliterated. He had stumbled across it a few days ago; clearly, it had once been storage room on the third floor, full of odd bits of furniture and boxes. After warding the room carefully, Harry found that blasting the furniture to pieces was an excellent way to relieve stress. However, this latest release of energy had obliterated everything to dust and rubble. Harry stared, tired and drained, at the carnage. Flinching as the rubble reminded him of Hogwarts, he quickly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him firmly.

Glancing at a clock that hung on the wall in the hallway, Harry realized with a start that hours had past. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten lunch and it was nearly dinnertime. He slowly climbed down the stairs to the entry hall, descending the narrow staircase to the kitchen while trying to remember if he had any food left. He pushed open the door, still lost in his thoughts, and was inches away from stepping on the letter on the floor when a tremendous BANG from upstairs had him stumbling against the wall.

Harry had righted himself and thrust out his wand before he even had a chance to think. Blinking, he ran up the stairs again to the entry hall and watched as dust fell from the ceiling as something slammed against the front door another two times. Straightening, he stood and waited, arm steady, to face whatever was trying to break through his wards.

* * *

_Author's Note: Yay, a cliffie! So these first few chapters will all be kinda slow set-up, as I decided to break them up into short chapters so I can update more often as opposed to long chapters that I forget I have to post. But I actually maybe have a plot in mind, so stuff is a-coming! Don't worry, Draco will appear soon! Also, a great big thank-you to my first reviewers, _smiling-is-my-favorite-pastime _and_ Insane Worm!_ I'm glad you're enjoying it so far, and I hope you had fun reading all the war poetry! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: A massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Hope you continue to enjoy this! :)_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"HARRY JAMES POTTER," a voice boomed, magnified by the Sonorus Charm, "OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I WILL BREAK IT DOWN."

Harry lowered his wand in disbelief. Shaking his head, he slowly walked to the front door and opened it to see a livid-faced, fierce-looking Hermione Granger on his doorstep.

"DID YOU REALLY THINK-" Hermione broke off, exasperated, and muttered, "_Quietus_," pointing her wand at her throat. Beginning again, she ranted, "Did you really think we would let you-"

Harry cut her off before she could begin her lecture on the doorstep. "Hermione, as much as I'd love to hear the rest of the speech, don't you think the Muggles are eventually going to notice the screeching coming from nowhere?"

Hermione glared before huffing and pushing past him. Harry stood there for a moment, just holding open the door, before sighing and closing it behind him. He turned to see Hermione staring at him, hands on her hips and looking so much like Mrs. Weasley that Harry was actually a bit scared.

"Eight days, Harry," she began, "Eight days, and we haven't heard a word from you! We've been worried sick!"

Harry had to fight a sudden and unexpected grin. "Bed empty, no note…" he muttered.

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

He shook his head quickly. "Nothing, just something Ron and I…" he trailed off, confused. "Where is Ron?"

"Ron," she nearly growled, "Is at home. With his family. Spending time with those he loves, as he will be going back to school soon. You remember the Weasleys, right Harry?"

"Mob of red hair? Rings a bell," Harry quipped.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "How is this a joke to you?"

"Look," he began, starting to get angry, "I get that you're worried, alright? But I'm fine. I'm dealing with this my way. In case you've forgotten, I died a few months ago! So I'm sorry if I'm not serious enough, or cheerful enough, or whatever it is you want me to be. But I can't be a hero right now, Hermione, and I bloody well won't bother trying."

Hermione's eyes softened. "No one's asking you to be a hero!" she cried, exasperated. "We just want you to take care of yourself! Harry, when was the last you ate something? Or went outside?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "I ate not too long ago." His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows dangerously.

"Well," he amended, "maybe I forgot a meal or two. But I was just about to make myself something when you dropped by."

"You know how I feel about house elves," Hermione began, "But maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to ask Kreacher to come back. He's certainly better at keeping track of your meals than you are."

"He's fine at Hogwarts," Harry said shortly.

"But you know he would rather-"

"I don't care. I want to be here, alone," he said pointedly.

Hermione's eyes glinted dangerously. "Well, since you haven't eaten, and your house elf is no longer available, I guess the only option is that we go out to eat."

Harry balked. "Go out?" he asked incredulously. "In public? Are you mad?"

"I doubt you have anything fit for consumption left in this horrid place, and since I missed dinner to come talk to you, you'll just have to find the courage to brave the outer world."

"Hermione, be serious," Harry groaned. "Look, I'll come over to the Burrow tomorrow, alright? But I'm not going out there, the media will be all over the place."

"Well I'm sorry, but the longer you wait the worse it will be," she reasoned. "And if you just ignore them they'll eventually get tired and go away. We'll just go to The Three Broomsticks and grab a quick bite."

Harry shook his head firmly. "No," he said, "absolutely not."

"Please, Harry?" she pleaded. "I'm hungry, and I miss talking to you. Plus I haven't left the Burrow in ages, I'm going to go mad if I don't get some fresh air."

Harry hesitated. The beseeching look on Hermione's face, full of hope and desperation, finally did him in.

"Fine," he ground out, "But only for a quick bite."

"Thank you Harry!" she gushed. She threw her arms around him, then let go and quickly dragged him to the front door before he could change his mind. As they left Harry turned and muttered a quick spell to lock the door. Watching him finally leave the house, Hermione allowed a small grin to grow behind Harry's back.

* * *

Hermione was wrong. Ignoring the reporters did not work; if anything, it made them more vicious.

They had barely managed to step foot into Hogsmeade before the whispering started. Harry could handle the obvious staring and hushed conversations as he passed; it was nothing he hadn't encountered in Hogwarts. However, the almost obsessive, worshipful gazing was more extreme than ever, and he quickly began to feel uncomfortable.

"Hermione," he began, ducking his shoulders uncomfortably.

"I know," she said, walking briskly beside him. "Just ignore them, we're almost there."

"Hermione, some of them are following us…"

She whirled around to see that indeed, a few curious locals had been indiscreetly following some distance behind them. "Yes?" she inquired dangerously. They quickly scattered under her furious and direct gaze.

Hermione glanced at him in satisfaction. "There," she said proudly. "You see? All you have to do if be forceful and let them know the attention is unwanted."

Harry stared at her before shaking his head helplessly. Wordlessly he pushed open the door that led to the Three Broomsticks, Hermione trailing smugly behind him.

They managed to enjoy a calm, soothing dinner in a cosy booth tucked in a corner of the pub. For approximately twenty minutes.

That, apparently, was how long it took for someone to owl in to report Harry's presence and for half of the Wizarding world press to descend upon them.

Harry cowered in the corner, trapped next to Hermione by the wall of reporters.

"Mr. Potter! What have you been doing with your time now that you've defeated the Dark Lord?"

"Mr. Potter! How do you answer the accusations that you used powerful Dark magic to kill You-Know-Who?"

"Harry! The Wizarding world needs to know- boxers or briefs?"

Grabbing a hold of Hermione, Harry began to forcibly shove his way past the reporters, muttering, "No comment," under his breath as he did so. However, by that point the crowd was so thick Harry could barely see the door that was his escape.

"Mr. Potter, is it true you have been secretly tracking down Death Eaters for the Ministry?"

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel to have been chosen to be Draco Malfoy's Light sponsor by the Minister himself?"

"No comment, no- wait, what?" Harry stopped, turning to stare incredulously.

The reporter pressed in, gleeful to have his attention. "With the Department for Discipline of Dark Deeds reinstating the Beaconian Code, Minister Shacklebolt has honoured you as the first Light sponsor, granting you the Dark One Draco Malfoy as your charge. What example do you intend to set as the first Light sponsor?"

Harry was completely bewildered. " Department for what? What code? _Malfoy_?" The reporters pressed in, shouting frantically now that they had Harry's attention.

"Right, that's enough of that…" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, yelled, "Brace yourself!" and quickly Apparated them away, landing on the doorstep of number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Harry blinked, disorientated. His ears continued to ring with the shouting of the reporters, the phrase _Dark One Draco Malfoy_ echoing in his head.

"Oh Harry," Hermione gushed, "I am so sorry! I should have realized they would have swarmed you, what with the new laws they're instating now, I completely forgot…"

"Hermione, what the bloody hell is going on?!" Harry nearly shouted.

Hermione wrung her hands together nervously. "Right, well, Kingsley- well, not him really, the Department for Discipline of Dark Deeds, and especially-"

"Right, that's it," Harry said grimly. He stormed down the stairs and, glancing quickly down the street, began to raise his wand.

"What are you doing?!"

Without turning, Harry bit out, "I think I'm due a little chat with the Minister." A quick turn and a crack later, and Harry was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_So. Um. It's been awhile. *Gulp* Sorry guys, I've been abroad this semester and things got busy. I have finals coming up soon, but I swear, I haven't abandoned this story. Sorry this chapter is so exposition-y, but Draco is finally going to make an appearance next!_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Minister Shacklebolt looked worse than Harry felt.

Harry eyed him, sitting slumped at cluttered desk in the spacious Minister's office, and reluctantly felt his anger slowly begin to decrease. Shacklebolt's dark skin was nearly ashen, and his eyes were bloodshot and half-drooping. Even the gold earring in his ear looked dull.

"Harry," Shacklebolt greeted him wearily in his deep voice. "I've been wondering when you would show up. Please, have a seat."

Harry hesitated, his arms crossed, before relenting and sinking gracelessly into the squashy chair across from the Minister's desk.

"You've been expecting me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was really hoping the Beatonan Code thing was just a rumour."

"Beaconian Code," Shacklebolt corrected. "And unfortunately it is in effect. How much have you kept up with the recent policy changes, Harry?"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Not much," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been in Grimmauld Place for awhile, haven't read the Prophet in ages…"

Shacklebolt sighed heavily. "A lot has changed. The wizarding world is recovering poorly, and it hasn't been easy to keep the general public from exploding into panic and chaos. The Ministry is still weak, and can only do so much until the power struggles have settled."

"Power struggles?" Harry asked, confused.

Shacklebolt looked at him almost pityingly. "What did you expect would happen when You-Know-Who fell? Half of the Ministry was in his payroll, and the other half was so terrified they buried their heads in the sand. Rooting out the Death Eaters and his supporters left the Ministry in shambles. There aren't enough people left to run it, much less rebuild it. The few that are left squabble about who should be in charge and accuse each other of being Dark Ones. The Ministry is a mess, Harry."

Harry was startled with how frank Shacklebolt was being. He shifted, wondering what to say. Finally, he muttered, "I'm sorry, that sounds like a nightmare. But what does that have to do with me, or with Malfoy?"

Shacklebolt closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he explained, "The Department for Discipline for Dark Deeds was created a few months ago, as an offshoot of the DMLE. It came up with the Beaconian Code solution to the Dark Ones problem. It's archaic, but widely supported. Most people think it will allow both the Dark One to be useful and rehabilitated, while the Light sponsors get free labor and reparations for their suffering. Opposing the law is… unpopular."

Harry felt himself sneer. "Unpopular," he echoed, disgusted. "Is that still what matters? In that case, I better go back into hiding, since Merlin knows when I'll next be 'unpopular'-"

"I'm doing everything I can," Shacklebolt interrupted calmly. "But our world is still too unstable. I cannot overturn laws passed by the Wizengamot simply because I do not agree with them. Being Minister does not make me a dictator, Harry. I thought you would appreciate that."

Harry flushed. "Fine," he gritted out, "it's complicated. I get that. But I don't want to be part of it."

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "You don't have a choice," he stated, still in that calm, deep voice. "You are the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Conquered. You are the one symbol of hope our world still looks to, and you refuse to acknowledge that."

"So I'm still supposed to be the Ministry's poster boy against my will?" he said angrily.

"I can't force you to be a Light sponsor," Shacklebolt corrected. "But I hope you can see how it will help. I had to pull strings just to be allowed to choose you to be the first one. You can set the example, Harry. You can show the world that the Dark Ones can be rehabilitated, that death and violence are not the only answer. Our world looks up to you, whether you like it or not. What will you show them?"

Harry sat in silence. He suddenly wished he had Ron and Hermione next to him to give him advice. He hadn't made a major decision without them in years. He could hear Ron scoffing, saying _"Are you mad, mate? Let them figure it out for themselves, you've done enough."_

Hermione's voice followed disapprovingly as she said, _"It's a reasonable request, Harry. You could do some good, show people they don't need to be so scared. You can't hide from the world forever."_

Shacklebolt watched him calmly hands folded in a way that reminded Harry of Dumbledore. Avoiding the memories, Harry made a face and said grudgingly, "I still don't even know what it means to be a Light sponsor, or why Malfoy is involved."

"Of course," Shacklebolt agreed, "I would never have you enter an agreement you didn't understand. Here, have a pamphlet."

Disbelieving, Harry slowly took the proffered pamphlet. The front cover, bright purple with golden writing, proclaimed, "The Beaconian Code and You: What It Means to be a Light Lord!"

He stared at Kingsley. "You're kidding, right?" he said, waving the pamphlet around. "Who wrote this, Rita Skeeter?"

Shacklebolt grinned unexpectantly. "A colleague of hers," he admitted, "But everything in there is factual, if oddly worded."

Shaking his head, Harry opened it up. The first half of it dramatically explained the history of the code. The second half finally described the duties and responsibilities of the Light sponsor and the Dark One.

_Worried about the possible dangers of working with a Dark One? Fear not! The Code has been altered to fit the current situation, acting in a similar way to an Unbreakable Vow. The Dark One in your service will be bound by powerful magic that prevents them from causing harm or using magic. Attempts at either will cause serious debilitating and rehabilitating pain! And of course, any attempted use of the Dark Arts will be immediately reported in will result in an immediate Kiss. _Well_, you wonder, _how will I make my Dark One obey me? I can't be a successful sponsor if my word is not heeded! _Again, worry not; the Beaconian Vow will ensure that your charge will be compelled to obey your every verbal command! With such obedience, your Dark One will be well on their way to a successful rehabilitation! _

Harry finished reading and felt nauseous. "This is slavery," he whispered, appalled. "There aren't even any rules for the sponsor!"

"Actually, there is one rule for the sponsor- you are responsible for all actions of your charge."

"And the punishment if the charge misbehaves?"

"None to the sponsor," he answered. "But the Dark One will either be punished, or sent back to Azkaban."

Harry was disgusted. "And you want me to do this to _Malfoy_?"

Shacklebolt looked at him steadily. "The Code is already in effect, Harry. This will happen to others that the DDDD chooses. I chose you and Malfoy to be first because I know you will treat him humanely. As you said, there are no rules against how a sponsor treats his charge- you are right. This could easily become slavery. There are people out there that are angry, and scared, and bitter, and will jump at the chance to abuse those that harmed them during the war. But if you set the right example, people will follow you. You can change how this turns out, Harry. Even if you don't want it, you have that power."

Reluctantly, Harry thought it over. He was nauseated by the idea of being someone's master, because that's what this was to him- slavery. But if he refused, and others used this as an opportunity for revenge when he could prevent it…

"Why Malfoy?" he said abruptly. "You know we have history. We'll probably kill each other within a week."

"Because you won't abuse the power, and he won't be able to abuse you. And people know about your history- if they see you treat someone you hate, someone who bullied you, with kindness, how will they justify their own actions? And if you don't, Malfoy will go back to Azkaban, until he is given to another sponsor. Who may not be as generous."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Harry muttered.

Shacklebolt smiled tiredly. "As I said, I'm doing what I can. I can't stop this from happening, but maybe we can change how it happens."

Harry wanted so badly to say no, to retreat back into his hole in Grimmauld Place. But deep down, in the place where his "saving-people thing" resided, he knew he couldn't let something like this happen when he had the power to stop it. But Malfoy? How was he supposed to live with the ferret in his only place of sanctuary? As he felt himself grow close to rejecting the idea altogether, he suddenly heard the voice of Narcissa Malfoy, whispering desperately in his ear _Draco, is he alive?_

Harry raised his head, feeling another weight slowly fall upon on his shoulders. Nonetheless, he asked wearily, "How do we do this?"

Shacklebolt did not smile. He raised his wand and wordlessly conjured a Patronus. Still staring impassively at Harry, he told the Patronus, "Dawlish, bring me Draco Malfoy."

* * *

_Finally, we're getting somewhere! Up next, Draco makes his appearance! And you know, some reviews might convince me to post the next chapter by this weekend... :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_So I was sad about the lack of hundreds of thousands of reviews, but I forgive you all, since I've been so terrible about uploading (and I SUPPOSE hundreds of thousands of people isn't really a feasible goal). Thanks to _piglett, guest, Luckout22, darkmoonlady, allenx14, DrarryWriter99, _and_ Guest_ for your lovely reviews! Every one made me squeal with excitement. And I really just enjoy writing this, so as promised, here's the next one! :)  
_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Harry wasn't exactly sure what he expected to see when Dawlish brought Malfoy in. A slightly thinner and dishevelled Malfoy, maybe, with his trademark sneer and haughty attitude. He hadn't kept track of what happened to Malfoy after the Final Battle, other than to make sure that he was still alive. He hadn't thought about Malfoy because he hadn't wanted to think about what had happened to him, or his parents.

Harry winced openly when the pair walked in, and even Kingsley seemed to go pale. Dawlish had his hand wrapped around Malfoy's arm, ostensibly to keep him from bolting, but Harry could see that he was actually supporting a lot of his weight. Malfoy looked like he was a few doors down from Death. His already pale skin was bloodless and waxen, underneath the purple and yellow bruises that spotted what skin was visible. He was wearing thin, grey Azkaban robes that looked as if they hadn't been washed in ages. Even with the baggy robes, it was easy to tell that he was skin and bones, and frankly Harry was surprised he stood upright, even with help. Someone had given him a ratty blanket, probably when he arrived, and he clutched it to him with thin hands and broken fingernails.

Seeing Malfoy looking like this, Harry decided this was his punishment for ignoring the other boy's fate.

Kingsley conjured up another seat next to Harry. "Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy," he said gently. Without a word Malfoy sank into the chair, back stiff and fingers clutching the blanket. Seeing the shivers that wracked Malfoy's body, Harry decided he'd had enough. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at Malfoy with the intent of casting a Warming Charm on him.

The effect was instantaneous. Dawlish and Kingsley both drew their wands lightning-fast, pointing them at Harry and demanding he lower his wand. But neither reaction startled him as much as Malfoy's. Instead of flinching, or looking frightened, he slowly raised his eyes to Harry's and fixed him with a dead stare. There was no life in his grey eyes, no fight, and it chilled Harry to the bone.

Harry ignored the two wizards pointing wands at him. Holding Malfoy's gaze, he said clearly, "You look cold. Can I cast a Warming Charm on your blanket?"

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Malfoy blinked, and a spark entered his eyes. Looking confused, he cocked his head slightly, then gave a half-nod. Harry wordlessly waved his wand and a jet of warm air streamed out, settling on Malfoy's blanket and sinking into the fabric. Malfoy clutched the blanket tighter, looking down at his shaking hands momentarily. When he raised his head again, Harry was relieved and strangely entranced to see his eyes were clearer and more focused.

The sound of a throat-clearing broke the moment. Harry looked up, startled, to see Dawlish still pointing his wand at him, though he looked confused. Shacklebolt had resumed his seat, and was watching Harry thoughtfully.

"Lower your wand, Dawlish," Shacklebolt intoned. "I believe Harry means Mr. Malfoy no harm."

"Well, that's a welcome change," a raspy voice drawled.

Harry started and turned to see Malfoy, who looked just as surprised at the words that had emerged from his own lips. He continued to stare until Malfoy said, with a hint of the old derision in his voice, "Close your mouth, Potter, you look more like an imbecile than usual."

Harry shut his mouth quickly. He had the strange urge to both grin and grind his teeth together. Ignoring both, he turned to Kingsley and said, "Now what?"

Kingsley turned to Malfoy, his face carefully blank. "Mr. Malfoy, has someone informed you of the situation?"

Malfoy stiffened further. "Yes," he grit out.

Kingsley nodded. "Good. Mr. Potter here has graciously agreed to be your Light sponsor."

"How magnanimous of our Saviour," Malfoy snarled.

"Of course, you don't need to accept," Kingsley said slowly. "We can always have you returned to your cell in Azkaban."

Malfoy shivered, and Harry was alarmed to see his eyes flicker dully again. Finally, he bowed his head and whispered, "I accept."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Then you both will be summoned to the Ministry exactly six months from now to evaluate your progress and determine how much additional time you will need to serve. Do you understand?"

The boys nodded, but inwardly, Harry was reeling. Six months of living with Malfoy? At the _least_?

"Excellent," Kinglsey said briskly. "Dawlish, please keep watch outside while I perform the ceremony."

Dawlish shifted uneasily. "Sir," he began, unused to questioning his boss, "Isn't the ceremony supposed to be performed in public?" He cowered when Shacklebolt gave him a quelling glare.

"In this case," he said smoothly, "I believe that will be unnecessary, and unwelcome to both Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy."

Harry nodded fervently. Malfoy, again, seemed to have vacated the building, his eyes a dull flat stare.

Nodding his head and mumbling, Dawlish exited Shacklebolt's office. When the door closed with an audible click, he sighed, then stood, gesturing Harry and Malfoy to do the same.

He arranged them so they were facing each other. Harry was frustrated to find that, even exhausted and wearing rags, Malfoy had better posture than him. He wasn't even completely sure which one of them was taller, or if they were the same height. Straightening a bit, he focused on that annoyance, rather than the dead look in Malfoy's eyes or the fact that he was about to virtually become his master.

"Hold each other's wand hands," Shacklebolt intoned. Harry raised his right hand and held it out for Malfoy's. For a moment, Malfoy stared at his proffered hand, before looking up at Harry. Both suddenly remembered the moment in their past this echoed. Blushing slightly for some unknown reason, Harry kept his hand raised and his eyes steady. After a moment, Malfoy clasped his hand, and a shock ran through Harry. Before he could think on it, Kingsley continued, "Traditionally, the charge is supposed to bear a mark or symbol of the sponsor. Is there anything in particular you'd like, Harry?"

Harry was so disgusted, he nearly ripped his hand from Malfoy's. "You want me to _Mark_ him?" he asked incredulously. A shudder ran up Malfoy's arm and his fingers flexed as if he longed to seize his other arm.

"There needs to be some sort of symbol on him, something that the Vow can latch onto," Kingsley explained. "It is how he is bound."

Harry thought for a moment, remembering Hermione's DA coins that would heat up when needed. "What about, I don't know, an arm brace or something?" Harry asked desperately. "Something he can't remove, but that isn't… permanent."

Harry could feel Malfoy's sharp gaze on him, but ignored it in favour of watching Kingsley's face. He looked thoughtful, before finally agreeing, "It could work. Instead of imagining a mark on him, you will need to imagine these braces, and I will substitute the wording correctly. Are you ready?"

Harry finally met Malfoy's stare. His eyes were alive again, but not with anger or disgust, the only reactions Harry was familiar with seeing. Unable to name the emotion, he simply nodded and said shakily, "Ready."

Kingsley began to chant in a low tone. Harry recognized very few of the Latin words, but Malfoy seemed to be listening intently. Kinglsey waved his wand over their joined hands, breaking off suddenly to ask, "Will you, Harry James Potter, agree to guide and educate your Dark charge in the ways of the Light?"

Harry swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. "I will," he croaked. Golden streams of light shoot from Kingsley's wand and wrapped themselves quickly around Harry and Malfoy's joined arms, anchoring at Malfoy's wrists.

"And will you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, agree to obey and serve your Light lord, turning away from the Dark and all its corruptions?"

"I will," Malfoy said steadily. Silver streams this time emerged from Kingsley's wands, again wrapping around their arms and centering at Malfoy's wrists. The gold and silver bands faded on their arms as Kingsley chanted, but the bands around Malfoy's wrists shone brighter and brighter until Harry had to look away. Finally, with a last flick of his wand, the chanting ended and the light exploded.

When Harry was able to see again beyond the stars winking in his eyes, he looked down to see two white bands wrapped snuggly just above Malfoy's wrists, with strange markings that Harry felt he would have to examine closely to make out the distinct features. He began to lean in to look more closely – was that a pair of antlers? – when Malfoy suddenly yanked his hand free. Startled, Harry looked up to see Shacklebolt sheathing his wand in his arm.

"It's done," he said, answering Harry's unasked question. "I just need you to sign some paperwork, and then you two can head back home."

Harry nodded distantly. He was half-aware of himself signing some paperwork Kingsley thrust at him without really reading it. All he could think was, _I came here to argue with the Minister and get some answers so I could be left in peace. I'm going home with an enslaved and half-dead Malfoy._

_I wonder which one of us got the worse end of the deal._

* * *

_A/N: As always__, reviews make Harry and Draco see rainbows and ponies of happiness and love! (What?) ... Well, at the very least, the encourage me to write faster!_  



	7. Chapter 7

_Posting this a bit earlier than I intended to- I'm just so happy about the responses I'm getting (and I'm doing an excellent job procrastinating studying for exams). Thanks for the reviews everyone! :)_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Kingsley graciously allowed Harry and Malfoy to use his personal fireplace to Floo back to Grimmauld Place. Which was good, because Harry honestly wasn't sure if he or Malfoy would be able to stand Apparition.

After revealing where he kept the Floo powder, Kingsley quietly left his own office. As the door shut firmly, Harry was suddenly aware that he and Malfoy were alone together.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet for a moment, searching for something to say. Malfoy was deliberately not meeting his eyes, adjusting his grip on the ratty old blanket. The bands around his wrists gleamed as they caught the light of the candles along the wall.

Finally, as the silence became thick and uncomfortable, Malfoy spoke up. "As much as I've enjoyed my time in the Ministry," he gritted out, "I would appreciate it if you _guide_ me to my latest prison, oh Lord of the Light."

Harry flinched. "Don't call me that," he said automatically.

Malfoy's bands flared lightly. Looking down at them in confusion, Malfoy snarled, "I'll call you whatever I like, oh L-"

He choked suddenly. Harry realized in horror that he had already given Malfoy a command.

"Malfoy, I didn't mean-" Harry stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He wanted to apologize, but knew it would be pointless. The look of defiance and challenge on Malfoy's face dared him to try. And while he did not want to abuse his power, it _was_ nice to know he wouldn't have to put up with Malfoy's attitude if he didn't want to… Although, to be honest, he was even a bit relieved that Malfoy had enough spirit left to _have_ an attitude…

Shaking his head, he turned and grabbed some Floo powder, motioning for Malfoy to do the same. As he was about to tell Malfoy his address, he stopped short and groaned. The wards he had placed on his home would not allow anyone to Floo in alone unless he had already keyed them in.

"Problem, Potter?" Malfoy asked nastily. "Trying to remember where you're living lately? I imagine it must be hard, not having a real family or a home-"

Harry ignored his tone. "I live at number twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said evenly, "But we'll need to Floo together. My wards won't let you in without me until I adjust them."

"Wonderful," Malfoy muttered. Then his eyes narrowed. "Why does that sound familiar to me?"

"I'm sure there's a few reasons," Harry said wearily, walking over to stand in front of the fireplace. "Now c'mere."

Malfoy opened his mouth to argue, quickly shutting it in surprise when he jolted forward. Again Harry felt guilty, but rationalized that there was no easy way to do this, and they could try to figure out ground rules when they were safely back in Grimmauld Place. He was beginning to get itchy for being out for so long.

Quickly Harry tossed a generous amount of Floo powder and walked into the cold green fire that sprang up. Without a word he held open his arms- in order to make sure they both made it safely through the Floo Network, they'd have to be as close as possible. When Malfoy looked as though he would refuse, Harry raised an eyebrow, reminding Malfoy that he could order him if he chose to. Malfoy seemed to puff up, and then deflate, the anger and humiliation leaving his eyes. Dully he walked into the fireplace and allowed Harry to awkwardly pull him into his arms.

Holding Malfoy tightly, Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen. Feeling Malfoy's arms wrap tentatively around him, Harry said softly but clearly, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place." With a flare of green light, they were gone.

* * *

Flooing had never been Harry's favourite method of transportation, and that was when he only had to worry about his own balance. Holding onto a passenger when the fireplace spit them out was beyond his abilities- as they emerged, he and Malfoy collapsed, gracelessly, onto the carpeted floor of Grimmauld Place's living room.

Harry groaned and tried to shake the stars from his head. At the last moment he had turned and taken the brunt of the fall, with Malfoy landing hard on top of him. Harry's head narrowly missed hitting a couch, but the hard floor was enough to daze him. After a few moments he tried to get up, only to realize that Malfoy was still very much on top of him, and he hadn't moved at all.

Alarm filled Harry. "Malfoy," he said loudly, shaking the limp body on top of him. "Malfoy, get up."

There was no response. Well, he definitely wasn't faking it then- he doubted Malfoy could ignore a direct order for so long. Harry gently moved the surprisingly light body off of him, taking care not to bang his head when he laid him on the ground.

Cursing Kingsley for no particular reason, Harry thought desperately about what to do. Clearly, the best idea would be to send Malfoy to St. Mungo's, but considering the current climate, Harry felt that would be a ridiculously foolish idea, even for him. But he only knew basic healing spells, and had no way of knowing what exactly what wrong with Malfoy.

Finally, Harry did the only thing he knew to do when he faced a difficult or impossible problem.

He went to find Hermione.

Turning quickly, he threw a handful of Floo powder onto the fireplace, stuck his head in, and called, "The Burrow!" He was hoping desperately that Hermione herself would answer, or Ron, he really didn't want to face anyone else…

Of course, as luck would have it, the Weasley he most wanted to avoid answered. "Harry!" Ginny cried, scrambling to kneel down to the fireplace. "Thank Merlin, we've been worried sick. Hermione came home a while ago a complete mess, said something about you and the press and Kingsley-"

"Actually, that's why I called," Harry interrupted hurriedly. "Is Hermione still there? I really need her to come over, now."

Hurt filled Ginny's expression at his quick dismissal. "I'll go see if I can find her," she said evenly, getting up and leaving without another word. Harry felt guilty for hurting her, but he really was not ready for the conversation he knew the two of them needed to have, and if it made him a coward to want to avoid that argument then so be it-

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an extremely flustered-looking Hermione. "Oh Harry, I'm so glad you called, I'm sorry about dinner-"

Again, Harry interrupted. "Hermione, I don't have time," he said tersely. "There's a… situation. Can you come over?"

Hermione looked puzzled. "Of course Harry," she said, "Should I go get Ron too?"

"NO," Harry exclaimed. At her raised eyebrows, he said, "I'll explain later, but for now I just need you. And… I really need you to keep an open mind, Hermione. Please."

Hermione's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hair. But without a moment's hesitation, she said, "Alright, move so I can come through." Harry felt a rush of gratitude and affection that he let her see before pulled his head from the fire and moved over so she could come through.

As he quickly adjusted the Floo wards to let Hermione in, Harry glanced nervously at the still motionless and damaged Malfoy, wondering how in the world he was going to keep Hermione, the long-ago founder of S.P.E.W., from going ballistic before he had a chance to explain.

The fireplace flared green and Harry turned, swallowing uneasily, to face the wrath of one of his best friends.

* * *

_For every person who takes a moment to give me a review, I will donate 2 sickles to S.P.E.W. Also, if anyone has any suggestions or things they'd like to happen, feel free to include that- I'm basically making this up as I go, so am open to suggestions! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to_ allenx14, darkmoonlady, Belldandy55555, Death'sAngel18, hpfan4evernow, rosez-have-thornz, Amanda, FlutterButterfly, helga1967, AchillesTheGeek, _and_ iamnotafreakingGOTH _for your lovely comments and reviews!_

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"You're his WHAT?!"

Harry winced and quickly cast a Privacy Spell, glancing at the couch where Malfoy lay. After Hermione had arrived, Harry had hurriedly explained what he could of Malfoy's condition. Tight-lipped, she hadn't pushed for further answers, but instead had Harry move Malfoy to the couch so she could perform basic diagnostic spells.

A few minutes later, she had briskly listed off his injuries, including fractured ribs, various bruises and cuts, mild hypothermia and dehydration, malnutrition, and the beginnings of pneumonia. Digging around in her beaded bag, which she had taken to keeping on her person at all times, even now, she was able to produce most of the necessary potions to begin the healing process. Forcing an unconscious Malfoy to swallow the potions had been tricky, but luckily not unmanageable.

His face already had lost some of the deathly paleness, which relieved Harry, but Hermione was concerned about the pneumonia, which she could not treat, and the malnutrition, which really could only be helped with a few good meals. Harry speculated that the food Mrs. Weasley insisted on sending him might not go to waste after all.

After doing everything they could to make Malfoy comfortable, including Conjuring up a few extra blankets and starting a fire in the fireplace, Harry and Hermione had moved to the other end of the living room so that he could attempt to explain what had happened. Apparently, he was doing a piss-poor job of it, since as soon as had said he was Malfoy's Light sponsor Hermione had promptly exploded.

"Are you trying to wake him up?" Harry whispered, still watching Malfoy to avoid meeting Hermione's gaze. "I thought you said he needed to rest!"

Hermione took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm herself. "Harry," she half-growled, half-pleaded, "Please try to explain to me how this happened."

Harry rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "Trust me, I didn't want this," he muttered. "I went to see Kingsley after the reporters mobbed us, and he explained what's been going on. He told me about the Department for the Discipline of Dark Deeds, and the Beaconian Code, and that apparently he chose me and Malfoy to be first because he can't stop it from happening and he thinks somehow we can influence how other people respond to all this, although I still don't understand why he doesn't think we'll kill each other within a week, but-"

"Harry," Hermione broke in calmly. Harry looked up, a little wild-eyed and exhausted, as she interrupted his rant. "Start from the beginning."

So, going a bit more slowly this time, Harry explained everything Kingsley had told him, and his logic behind this ludicrous idea. The outrage on Hermione's face faded and was replaced with a thoughtful consideration.

"I don't like it any more than you do," she said when Harry had finally winded down. "And I hate to say it, but Shacklebolt does have a point. Things are chaotic out there, Harry, and as much as I know you hate your fame, maybe in this instance, you can use it to do some good."

Harry took a moment to be proud that he had correctly judged Hermione's response. Then he frowned as her words sank in. "But how?" he asked plaintively. "Alright, so I don't treat Malfoy like a house- like a slave," he hurried to correct. "But I don't know what to do with him, much less how I'm supposed to bloody 'rehabilitate' him! He's Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. I'm pretty sure being an arse is in his genetics."

"Language, Harry," Hermione said absently. "I suppose you could try talking to him. If you present a logical, reasonable argument that clearly outlines the flaws and failures of the pure-blooded prejudices and anti-Muggle mentality…"

Harry just sat and stared at her. After a moment, her lips quirked up in a smile. "I didn't think it would work either. He's clearly past the point of reason and logical arguments. Still, it's a nice idea…" she trailed off sadly.

Harry patted her knees comfortingly. He knew how hard it was for Hermione to admit that sound and reasonable logic could not conquer all of the world's problems.

She sighed, now rubbing her own forehead. "Why does this always happen to you, Harry?" she asked plaintively.

He actually felt himself smile. "I think we've been asking ourselves that for a few years now, haven't we?"

She smiled back sadly. "I'm sure it wouldn't be pleasant, but maybe if you brought him around the Weasley's – you know, force him to interact with blood-traitors or even a Muggleborn – the exposure would help show that we aren't as horrible as he thinks."

"No," Harry said firmly. "Absolutely not. I won't do that to them, or to you. They're still grieving, Hermione- you really think throwing in Malfoy, forcing them to try to be civil to each other, is going to make anything better?"

"You're still grieving too, Harry," Hermione whispered. "If it meant spending more time with you, we'd all put up with Malfoy. You know that."

Harry looked away, his throat tight. "This is my problem," he finally said. "I'll figure out how to handle it."

"You don't have to do it on your own. You know we'll always be there to help, don't you?"

Harry squeezed Hermione's hands. "I know," he smiled, "I count on it more than you know. But you and Ron are going back to Hogwarts. Your lives are moving on. I can't rely on you to help me with every little thing. Malfoy's going to be a pain in the ass, and the wizarding world is probably going to be worse, but I have to learn to do as much of it on my own as I can."

Tears glistened in Hermione's eyes as she threw her arms around Harry in an impulsive hug. Harry, still not quite used to such strong displays of physical affection, stiffened for a minute, before relaxing in her embrace. "I wish you were coming back with us," Hermione sniffed. "Nothing will feel right without you there."

"I'll visit when I can," he said. "You know McGonagall gave me a standing invitation to come by whenever I want. And besides, you'll be so busy studying for your NEWTS, and Ron will be so busy trying not to, you'll completely forget I'm not there."

Hermione pulled back finally and smiled ruefully. "I still don't believe it, you know. That we did it, and V-Voldemort's gone, and Ron and I will be boarding the Hogwarts Express without you."

"Believe it," Harry said firmly. "And remember, when's Ron's driving you mental because he won't do his essays, that Malfoy will be driving me twice as insane. And then we'll meet for drinks at the Three Broomsticks and have loads to complain about."

They shared a grin. Harry felt better than he had in weeks. He hadn't realized how much he had missed talking with his friends. He felt a sharp pang as he wished Ron were here, even as he knew Ron would have exploded at Malfoy's presence.

"You'll come to the Burrow, won't you?" Hermione pleaded. "Before we leave, just to visit? And to say goodbye?"

"Of course," he promised. "I'll come by in a week. Hopefully by then things will have settled with Malfoy."

Both looked his way again, frowning at his persistent stillness. "What do you want me to tell the Weasleys?" Hermione asked.

Harry hesitated. "Tell them the basics, before the papers do. And tell them that after things have calmed down here, I'll come by to explain everything. And apologize to Ron for me- I didn't think he'd handle this well, especially if Malfoy woke up."

Hermione nodded. "And Ginny?" She asked cautiously. "She's going back to Hogwarts too, you know. You too should probably talk about – things – before she's gone. "

Harry frowned again, then sighed. "Tell her- tell her I'll talk to her when I come by."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say more, but restrained herself. She stood, glancing at Malfoy one last time. "Here," she said, handing Harry a few potion vials. "For the next few days. He'll be sore, and weak, and he'll need real food- I'll tell Molly to send extra, she'll be thrilled. If you have any problems, don't hesitate to ask me. And of course I'll be researching the Beaconian Code, see if I can find anything that can help you."

Harry smiled. "Thanks," he said honestly. "I'll do that. And Hermione?" he said as she turned to grab some Floor powder.

She looked at him quizzically. "Yes?"

"Thanks for helping with Malfoy. I know he's – well, he's Malfoy. You could have easily told me to just send him to St. Mungo's."

Hermione came over and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I didn't do it for him, silly," she said affectionately, before throwing him one last warm smile and Flooing back to the Burrow.

* * *

_Not entirely sure how this scene became so Hermione-centric; I love Ron, I wanted him there for the warm fuzzies too! I'll just have to give him his own later :) Please review, it gives ME the warm fuzzies!_

_Also, NOT necessary to read this next part, but I thought I'd answer a few specific questions/comments people have left me in reviews:_

_Belldandy55555: It is a horrible situation, the Ministry is making all the same mistakes they did the first time Voldemort died. But although I haven't mentioned how yet, the Vow CAN be broken, hence the need for a mark or symbol. And Harry and Draco will definitely find the Vow's literal-ness in regards to orders to be quite tricky, which makes it fun for me to write! =D_

_rosez-have-thornz: Sorry your other review didn't get through, but I appreciate your writing it all the same! And the Dark Ones can't do magic because they don't have their wands and if even if they did, any attempted magic would result in serious debilitating pain from the Mark (or, in Draco's case, the bracelets)._


	9. Chapter 9

_In celebration of the completion of 2 of my 3 exams, here is the next longer chapter __:)_

_I feel the urge to admit that I made myself a playlist to listen to while writing this story, and always giggle like a small child when My Chemical Romance's "Teenagers" comes on. Especially because the more I listen to it, the more it seems to apply…_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Draco awoke with the conviction that he had finally died, and that the afterlife wasn't so bad.

He kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply. He was warm, and could hear a crackling fire, and was no longer in so much pain. And he could think clearly, which was a pleasant surprise – he had been aware, in the long months of Azkaban and boggarts and nightmares, that he was so slowly losing his grip on sanity.

Snuggling down into the blankets, Draco was distantly aware of something niggling at him, something he needed to think about. But he ignored it in favour of clinging to his fantasy, that he was warm and safe and dead.

But as he shifted, his wrists knocked together, making an audible clinking sound. He frowned- why was he so comfortable if he was still in his Azkaban chains?

Curiosity got the best of him, and despite his mind warning him that he did _not_ want to know, he opened his eyes and stared.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, as bright sunlight was streaming in directly in his eyes. When he could look, he saw he was on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar room, wearing unfamiliar rags and blankets. But his attention was completely occupied by the intricate designs on the bright white bands that comfortably wrapped around his wrists. _Ah_, he thought distantly. _Not Azkaban's shackles. Potter's_.

He almost wished he really was dead.

A loud snort pulled his from the direction his thoughts were heading. Lifting his head slightly, he was able to see a prone figure lying on the couch across from him- Potter. He looked like he had fallen asleep in an incredibly uncomfortable position, still half-sitting up and his glasses dangling off one ear.

Draco did not want to wake him up- didn't want to talk to him at all, actually. But he was uncomfortably aware that he needed to use the bathroom, and the mere idea of attempting to stand exhausted him.

"Potter," he tried, hoarsely. His voice, unused for anything aside from screams for months, was weak and cracked. Clearing his throat, he tried once more. "POTTER."

Potter jolted awake and was crouching defensively, wand in hand, before Draco could blink twice. Looking confused, he stared at Draco for a moment, fumbling with his glasses, before his eyes widened. "You're awake," he said stupidly.

Draco stared at him with as much condescension as he could muster, considering his sorry state and the fact that he was lying down. It must have still been affective, though, as Potter flushed and came over to kneel by him.

"How do you feel? Hungry? Thirsty? Are your ribs still sore? I have some potions from Hermione for the pain, and for infection, but she said we have to be careful how much-"

"I need to take a piss," Draco interrupted. He inwardly cringed at being so crude – interesting, that he could still feel the need to be a proper Malfoy after all this – but felt it was worth it when Potter sputtered to a stop and blushed an even deeper red.

"Right, of course," he said. "Er…" he trailed off, looking unsure. Finally coming to some sort of decision, he pulled the excess blankets off of Draco, helping him to sit up. He went to pull the last blanket off him, the dark grey one, but Draco clutched it to him tightly. He would not give it up, and he would definitely not explain why to Potter.

Potter looked at him strangely, but didn't press. "Here," he said, taking Draco's right arm and throwing it over his shoulders. "Lean on me, I'll take your weight."

Draco wanted to protest, didn't want to touch Potter any more than he had to, but knew his feet would not support him. Besides, Potter had given him an order. He would not be able to disobey.

His stomach twisted violently, and before he could calm himself he threw up on the floor. Instead of being disgusted and outraged, as he would have expected from the Golden Boy, Potter rubbed his back anxiously. "Hey, it's all right," he muttered, absently Vanishing the mess wordlessly. "Take deep breaths, just relax…"

And Draco had no choice but to listen. He felt himself relax and his stomach settled.

After a minute, Potter ventured, "Are you ok to stand?"

Draco nodded tightly. Together, the two of them awkwardly made their way out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. "Er," Potter said again, awkwardly. "Do ya… I mean, can you…"

It was Draco's turn to blush. "I can manage on my own," he snapped.

Potter nodded hurriedly, relieved. "Right. Well, if you think you're up to it, there's towels and stuff for a shower, and I put a change of clothes on the counter. I'll go check on breakfast, but holler if you need anything, alright?"

Instead of answering, Draco slammed the door in Potter's face, taking a small amount of satisfaction at finally bringing a flicker of anger to Potter's face.

* * *

Harry stared at the closed door, fuming silently. Malfoy was just as irritating as ever.

He wasn't completely unsympathetic; he understood how horrible this was for Malfoy, and could only imagine what he had gone through in the past few months. Guilt wormed around Harry's stomach, so he ignored that track of thought. But couldn't Malfoy see he was _trying_? He didn't have to fall over himself with gratitude, but Harry would appreciate some of that infamous Malfoy courtesy and politeness he had never actually seen…

With one last half-hearted glare at the door, Harry turned and descended to the kitchen, wondering if Mrs. Weasley had sent anything over for food or if he would have to scrounge in the pantry for something edible.

When Harry entered the kitchen, he could only stare. The table was covered in various baskets of food, all under strong Preservation Charms that gave off a hazy shimmer. Gaping, he wondered how in the world all the food had gotten there.

Spying a note propped up on the basket nearest the door, Harry ran over and snatched it, quickly scanning the letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_I probably should had chosen my words more carefully when I told Molly you were feeling a bit peckish and might be willing to have some extra food. Apparently she took that to mean you have been starving yourself, and the spread you see is the result. I don't believe it helped that I explained you were feeding Malfoy as well, and he looked under the weather. I would appreciate it if you would adjust your wards to allow the food to be delivered directly to your kitchen; as I am currently the only person you have allowed through your Floo, I had to carry all of this myself. You can thank me later._

_Everyone reacted differently when I explained the situation, but no one exploded. (Well, actually, Ron choked a bit, but that's his fault for continuing to eat when I told him I had important news. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he listens to me at all.) I think they're all anxious to hear your side, though. And Ron's a bit put out you didn't tell him with me, fair warning. _

_I know you aren't getting the Prophet, and I'll save you from having to read the story; Skeeter got the scoop from the Ministry, so of course there's little in the way of "facts." It's absolute rubbish, of course, front page sensationalism. Suffice it to say, everyone knows now. Strengthen your mail wards, you'll probably be getting a fair few fan letters and Howlers._

_I hope Malfoy isn't being too horrible to you about all this. Keep us updated, or I'll start popping in!_

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about shopping or cooking for Malfoy. It was good to have Molly Weasley in his life.

Harry put together a large platter of food, Levitating it in front of him to bring up to Malfoy. He wasn't sure what the prick would eat, but at this point he didn't much care- he was still irritated about the earlier attitude. Settling the plate down on the piano in the corner, Harry imagined Malfoy's likely reaction to the food- condescension, annoyance, ingratitude. Harry scowled and brooded, wondering whether it was morally ethical to order Malfoy into a good mood.

Irritable mood still in place, Harry went to the bathroom to check if Malfoy was done. He was even more annoyed to notice the shower was still on- he had been gone plenty of time for Malfoy to finish! He raised his hand, ready to knock heatedly, when a faint noise caught his attention. Listening, it sounded like the gasping, shuddering breaths a person makes when they are trying desperately to cry quietly.

The anger fled Harry faster than a Snitch. He pressed his still-raised fist to his forehead, trying once again to ignore the crawling guilt. When he had his emotions in check, he knocked normally, calling out, "Almost done Malfoy? There's food out here, and I think you need to take a few more potions."

There was a silence, followed by the sound of the water turning off. "I'll be out in a few minutes," Malfoy said, voice muffled through the door.

Harry nodded, and then felt ridiculous when he remembered Malfoy couldn't see it. Shaking his head, he walked back into the drawing room, trying to decide if he should make himself a plate or wait for Malfoy to choose the food he wanted first.

* * *

Draco grappled with himself for control. He was tired and weak, and self-pity would not help him. He needed to keep up his strength so he could figure out how to survive this latest ordeal. Amazingly, the hot shower had revived him a bit, even if he had been too weak to do it standing up. He had forgotten how much he missed such simple pleasures. He no longer wanted to die- as long as he was able to stay out of Azkaban, away from the boggarts and the memories, maybe he could survive. Even as Potter's slave for the next six months.

The clothes Potter had left were old and too big, just trousers and a jumper, but comfortable enough and clean. At least the undergarments didn't look used. He pulled them on after drying off, feeling the relief of not having to wear the Azkaban robes any longer. However, he kept the grey blanket, ratty as it was, clutched to his chest. When he was ready, he slowly entered the drawing room, leaning heavily on the walls, head held up defiantly and waiting for Potter to challenge him over the blanket.

However, Potter did not even notice his entrance. He was too bust standing with his back to Draco, staring at a plate of food on a piano. Draco cleared his throat loudly and had the satisfaction of watching Potter jump, alarmed.

"Malfoy," he said, hurrying over. "What are you doing? You should have called, I would have helped you walk here."

"I'm not an invalid," Draco said snidely. "I made it just fine on my own." He hoped that the baggy trousers hid the shaking in his legs that belied that statement.

Potter raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Right," he said dubiously. He gestured to the massive mound of food behind him. "What do you want to eat? Mrs. Weasley sent over a ton, we'll be set for a while."

Draco's stomach rumbled as he looked at the feast in front of him. He was absolutely bloody starving, but hesitated; he didn't think his body would be able to handle much, especially if he still had potions to take.

He pushed off from the wall, intending on making himself a plate of food, when his legs suddenly collapsed from under him. Potter's quick reflexes saved him as he grabbed Draco around the shoulders and hauled him up.

"That's enough," he said with finality in his tone. Ignoring Draco's cry of indignation and protest, he scooped him up bridal-style and walked him over to the couch, depositing him clumsily but gently. "Oh shut it, you can barely stand. Just tell me what you want you want and I'll bring it over."

Draco's temper, always showing up at the worst of times, finally snapped. His emotions were frayed and he was bitterly ashamed that he had so little control, was so _weak_, in front of his childhood nemesis. Forced to answer Potter's unintentional command, he snarled, "I _want_ to be in Malfoy Manor eating gourmet meals prepared by proper house elves, not blood-traitor whores. I _want_ my parents to be fucking alive, safely with me, as far away from you as magically possible. I _want_ to be free, not a Death Eater minion or an Azkaban prisoner or your personal fucking slave, you filthy half-blood Muggle-loving _prick_."

Potter stood silently throughout his entire outburst, his face growing harder and colder by the second.

When Draco finished, panting and flushed, he finally became aware that everything in the room was shaking violently. A glass vase on an end table vibrated so badly it fell to the ground, shattering loudly.

Ignoring the noise, Potter said in a low, dangerous voice, "I suggest you remember how miserable I can make your life, you nasty piece of shit. You are absolutely _nothing_ here." And with that, he stormed out of the room, the air crackling around him and the door slamming shut behind him magically.

The items in the drawing room slowly stopped quivering as Draco, sitting alone and unharmed, shook uncontrollably for hours after.

* * *

_Thanks to_ darkmoonlady, Momo892, iamnotafreakingGOTH, Guest, allenx14, ryu-son, Death'sAngel18, Jaa-Ne, _and_ Serrenedy _for all your comments and reviews! You rock ALL my socks._

_Read and review s'il vous plait!  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sorry guys, between exams and getting back home things got hectic. But I'm back in a rhythm now, so updates shall continue again :) _

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

The shadows crept across the room slowly as Draco sat and waited for Potter to return.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but Draco knew he had been out of line. After being quite forcefully reminded of Potter's power over him – not to mention Potter's power in general – he sorely regretted losing his temper. Potter _was_ a prick, but until Draco's slip he had been indulging his hero complex. Now, though, Potter would tire of playing the Saviour, especially with no audience to impress, and Draco would be at the wrong end of his temper and his wand. He might even begin to miss Azkaban if he pissed Potter off enough.

With his memories of Azkaban fresh in his mind, the darkness began to move and writhe in Draco's head. The light flickering from the fireplace danced with the shadows of the dying day as Draco listened to the screams and cackles echoing in his mind. As if from a distance, the small part of Draco that remained lucid dispassionately observed and noted that his sanity was nearly gone.

A door opened in his mind. No, wait, that was an actual door opening, wasn't it? Slowly, Draco turned his head, blinking. Standing across the room, his arms folded coolly across his chest, was Potter. His posture was unmoving but composed, and his face was completely blank. Staring at him, Draco was not entirely sure he was not hallucinating.

Finally, after watching his face for a few minutes, Potter spoke. "We need to set some ground rules," he said calmly. "Neither one of us can afford to lose our tempers if we want to make this work without killing each other."

He paused and looked at Draco expectantly. Was he waiting for a response? Draco's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but when the silence lengthened, he slowly nodded.

It seemed to satisfy Potter, for he continued. "Neither one of us wants this. Tough. We're stuck, and I'm not going to go and destroy a room every time you piss me off. So we're going to work out how to not to antagonize each other."

After another pause, Draco nodded again, this time more promptly. He had no idea why Potter was waiting for his agreement, it wasn't like he had any say in the matter. If Potter told him to dance around and trill like a phoenix he'd have no choice but to obey; why treat him like they were negotiating? Was he mocking him?

Potter moved further into the room. He stood above Draco, his face still blank and unreadable, forcing Draco to crane his neck up to look at him. After a moment of this, Potter turned and sat on the opposite couch facing him.

Abruptly, Potter said, "I don't know how any of this works. Obviously the Vow doesn't care much about intent, since you've had to obey me even when I didn't mean things as commands. So. I'll have to try to watch what I say, phrase things as questions and such, so I don't accidentally order you to do anything I don't mean. I'll probably slip up though, I'm not really all that good at thinking before I speak. So if I ever order you to do something unintentionally, will you tell me so I can fix it?"

This time Draco knew an answer was expected. He nodded again, wondering suspiciously why Potter seemed so calm and rational. He was afraid to open his mouth, lest he say something regrettable that would send Potter back into a towering rage.

A flash of irritation began to cross Potter's face before it faded back into smooth blankness. "Right," he said impassively. "I'll be watching what I say, and you'll need to as well. So any insults, mentions of the war, comments about our families and friends, and our – situation – should probably be off limits, don't you think?"

Draco realized with a start that Potter was actually asking him to avoid making a direct command. An unexpected and rather unwelcome wave of gratitude rushed over him. Meeting Potter's gaze, he said evenly, "I agree."

Finally, some emotion, as Potter looked genuinely surprised for a moment before continuing. "Honestly, it would probably be best if we avoid each other as much as possible for the next six months. This is a big house, we should be able to get away with going days without seeing each other once you're healed. The less time we spend together, the less chance we'll slip up."

Potter glanced at the piano suddenly, looking pained. "I completely forgot to give you the potions," he muttered. "Malfoy, how do you feel?"

Draco thought for a moment, debating how much of the truth to tell Potter. But after seeing Potter's face slide back into the frozen mask, he relented quickly. "Dizzy," he admitted reluctantly. "And nauseous and sore, and I can feel something rattle when I breathe."

Potter looked alarmed. "That can't be good," he said idiotically. "I know you probably can't eat much, but I don't think you're supposed to have all these potions on an empty stomach. Here, eat what you can and we'll see what happens."

With a wave of his wand Potter Summoned the food, still fresh from the Preservation Charms, and fixed them both plates for lunch. Draco watched him impassively place the food in front of him, wondering if Potter was aware that he had just given a command.

Apparently he was, because as Draco hesitated for as long as the Vow would let him, Potter met his gaze clearly and without pity. "Eat," he said plainly, "But only what you can. This is about your health, Malfoy, I'm not going to bother fighting with you over this."

Draco wanted to argue for the sake of arguing, but he couldn't. Before he realized what was happening, he found himself grabbing the nearest bowl of soup and digging in. Giving up the fight, he sat there and ate with Potter in silence, the trembling in his hands the only visible evidence of any emotion in the room.

* * *

Malfoy was shaking, and Harry's stomach was again flipping with guilt.

He honestly did not want to eat, afraid that he would throw up anything he tried to choke down. But he didn't want Malfoy to sit there and eat alone in the silence, and to keep himself from saying anything to make things worse, he mechanically shoveled food into his mouth.

He regretted losing his temper earlier. In retrospect, he realized he had forced Malfoy to say what was on his mind, and so it wasn't entirely his fault. But hearing the filth that had come out of his mouth, Harry had been hard pressed not to curse him into oblivion. Why a few insults enraged him so much he would never understand; he only knew that somehow, Malfoy had always been able to get under his skin like no one else.

Glancing at Malfoy now, he wondered if he was even capable of feeling guilt over what he had said. It was obvious from the quivering hands that he was either afraid or furious, or perhaps both. He had certainly been trying to annoy Harry earlier by refusing to answer him out loud, no doubt sulking angrily. Anger, however, Harry could deal with – he and Malfoy had been fighting for years, after all. But if it was fear that left Malfoy shaking… well, Harry was used to feeling like a freak, but feeling like a monster was an entirely new and horrifying experience.

Eating was officially a lost cause. Grimacing, Harry put down the sandwich he had been staring at for minutes, lost in his thoughts. Malfoy didn't look to be doing much better; half a bowl of soup later, he too was staring at his food with a queasy look of distaste.

"You can stop if you can't eat anymore," Harry said quietly. Malfoy quickly shoved the bowl away, looking relieved. Harry gestured vaguely and Summoned the various potions Hermione had left. Catching them all deftly, he frowned and tried to sort out which potion was which, and in which order Malfoy was supposed to take them.

"Ok, I know this is a pain potion, which Hermione said you can't take until after you've had the others because it will interfere with them somehow…" he trailed off, staring at Malfoy, who was completely ashen and gaping at him. "What?" he asked, bewildered.

"You," Malfoy choked, "You just Summoned those wandlessly."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't realized he had openly done wandless magic; normally, he was much better about hiding his growing power, but he had gotten used to being alone and so had gotten lax.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. My magic has gone a bit haywire after – everything."

Malfoy continued to stare at him. Harry sighed and decided to move on with the conversation; they weren't going to get anywhere with this topic. He wordlessly held out first of the potions, waiting for Malfoy to take the hint.

Starting, Malfoy flushed slightly and accepted the potion. Without even looking at the label he downed it in one gulp, making a face as he did so. They repeated this until all of the potions were gone and Harry was relieved to see a bit of color had returned to Malfoy's face.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked again.

"Better," Malfoy answered reluctantly. "No pain, and the dizziness is better."

"And your lungs?"

Malfoy paused for a moment, taking a deep breathe. "Not as bad," he admitted.

"Good," Harry said, relieved. "Do you think you could stand? It's not late, but you'll need to get a good sleep, so I should show you to your room."

It seemed Harry had rendered Malfoy speechless again. "My room?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I wasn't going to stick you in a cupboard," Harry said, grinning darkly.

Malfoy blinked, but apparently decided to ignore the comment. "I can walk," he said, rather stiffly.

"Good," Harry said absently, quickly thinking over the state of the rooms in Grimmauld Place. As the house had been largely uninhabited for months, the rooms had become rather run-down. Harry himself had taken over the master bedroom on the second floor, as it was the largest room and Harry had felt like indulging himself with the space. The only other relatively clean and habitable room was the room he and Ron had shared, also on the second floor.

"Alright," he said, decision made. "There's a bedroom upstairs that should work." He stood, gesturing wordlessly for Malfoy to do the same. Malfoy stood quickly, swaying alarmingly on his feet.

"Whoa," Harry said, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Are you sure you can walk?"

Malfoy shrugged off Harry's hand as if it had burned him, a disgusted look on his face. "I'm fine," he snarled, "I won't have you carrying me again. I'll make it on my own if I have to crawl."

Harry resisted the urge to snap back. "Have it your way," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned and headed out of the room, refusing to turn and see how Malfoy was doing. It took a while, but Malfoy finally caught up, a pale face the only sign of his struggles.

Somehow, they proceeded up the stairs. Harry was grateful that their rooms were only one flight up from where they had been resting. Miraculously, Malfoy only stumbled once, emitting a choked groan as he fell against the bannister. Harry had instinctively reached out to help, but managed to stop himself before he touched Malfoy. He was grateful for his restraint, as Malfoy had straightened and proceeded onwards as if nothing had happened.

Finally, they reached Malfoy's room. Looking at the room from an outside perspective, it was smaller than he realized, but it would have to do.

He turned to Malfoy, feeling slightly awkward, and said, "I can take the second bed out tomorrow, to give the room a bit more space. But it's clean, and there's a bathroom right next door. My room is on the other side of the bathroom, in case you, you know, need anything…" He trailed off, unsure what else to say.

Malfoy nodded tightly. He moved past Harry into the room, surveying it quickly. "I'll manage," he said distantly. Harry nodded back, feeling incredibly awkward, and spun to make a hasty retreat.

"Potter."

Harry turned back, eyebrows raised. Malfoy hesitated, holding the door open with a strange look on his face. He stared at Harry for a long moment.

"Thank you," he whispered, before slamming the door shut firmly.

Standing alone in the hallway staring at the second door Malfoy had shut in his face that day, Harry gave a small smile and retreated to his room.

* * *

_Thanks to_ darkmoonlady, lovergirl101,rosez-have-thornz, Death'sAngel18, AchillesTheGeek, Guest, MDarKspIrIt, Momo892, _and_ allenx14 _for all your comments and reviews! You make me WANT to keep writing, even when I have no idea what to write. Thus this chapter :) __So please, read and review!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This is my favourite chapter so far, I'm so excited to see what you guys think. Incidentally, it's also the longest to date, which I hope you also enjoy! :)  
_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Harry and Malfoy settled into an uneasy routine over the next few days.

Although Malfoy's recovery was going slowly, he seemed to be steadily gaining more colour and could finally sustain his own weight. He spent most of the next few days sleeping, waking only for meals and potions. To Harry's utter relief, he found that aside from the few minutes every day when he delivered food, he was able to avoid speaking to Malfoy altogether. And while he was trying to get Malfoy back into good health, he dreaded the day when Malfoy finally gained enough strength to be a pain in his arse again.

Every morning began the same way. Harry would stare out his windows, dark curtains drawn back, and would absently watch the sun rise. Most mornings he was up at the crack of dawn out of sheer ingrained habit; the nights he was awakened by his own nightmares, he would roll over, make sure his Silencing Charms had held, and then shake alone in bed until the light spilled onto his pillows. After helping himself to some of Mrs. Weasley's ever-growing breakfast spread, he would make Malfoy's food tray with all of his potions, delivering it to his door with a firm knock and retreating hastily.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed this way. Harry was cautiously pleased; perhaps what he had hoped would be possible, and he and Malfoy would be able to spend the next six months ignoring each other. Maybe this horrible situation wouldn't have to change anything. Maybe he could continue to enjoy his solitude in peace.

And then on Sunday, Malfoy came out of his room.

Harry was again in the drawing room on the first floor, curled up in the armchair he particularly enjoyed by the fire. He had a copy of _Medieval Magical Bonds_ in his hands and a large pile of more books, courtesy of Hermione, piled up on the table next to him. He had been trying dutifully to read the dusty tome, but found the language to be much too difficult to sort through, and instead was staring into the fire, lost in his thoughts.

The sound of a throat clearing sent adrenaline pumping through Harry's veins. Before he could even register what was happening, his wand was in his hand and he was on his feet, book raised and ready to be tossed at a moment's notice.

A long minute passed in which Harry finally realized that there was no threat. Malfoy was standing at the door, looking supremely unconcerned to be wandless and in the line of fire. Abashed, Harry lowered his wand and dropped the book.

"That," Malfoy drawled, moving further into the room, "Is the third time you've greeted me with a wand in my face. Do you even know what manners are, Potter?"

Harry glared, annoyed. "A smart person," he grumbled, "Would know better than to sneak up on someone with battle instincts."

Malfoy snorted. "A smart person," he countered, "Would not let his guard down enough that the slightest noise makes him jump like a Chocolate Frog."

"Oh shut up," Harry muttered, returning his gaze to the book in his hands. He had been reading for hours but had barely absorbed anything, and everything about the Beaconian Code was extremely vague and general. Maybe he could just ask Hermione to summarize and translate it for him? She always loved an extra project-

A very large, very heavy book suddenly made contact with Harry's skull.

"Ow!" Harry yelped, clutching his head. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

Malfoy was a foot away, another book in his hands as if he was prepared to throw it next. However, he had sunk to his knees, grabbing at his own head and shaking quietly, face screwed up as though in agony. Breathing heavily, he raised his eyes to meet Harry's, his face flushed and furious, mouth set in a grim line and his entire body tense. He stared silently at Harry, lifting the book threateningly as the stare-off continued.

"Malfoy, what-" Harry began again, before realization dawned horribly. "Oh," he said weakly, still clutching his head. "I told you- Merlin. Um. You can talk, Malfoy."

The tirade immediately poured out. "You, Potter, are the most brainless, self-absorbed, sadistic bastard I have ever had the misfortune to share air with, and so help me Salazar I will find a way to make you pay if you _ever_ try that again-"

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted.

Malfoy swayed as if Harry's apology had managed to make him physically and verbally halt. "I- excuse me?"

"You heard me," Harry replied wearily. "You're right, I wasn't thinking, and I said that I wouldn't do that to you. It wasn't intentional."

Malfoy stared at him suspiciously, as if he was waiting for Harry to point and laugh at any moment. Finally, he climbed to his feet, slowly dropping the book and snorting. "I shudder to imagine the damage you could inflict on the world if you ever actually did something you intended to do."

Harry grinned, knowing it was as close as Malfoy would come to accepting his apology. "I think I've caused enough damage for a lifetime, thanks."

An awkward silence descended as both tried to avoid thinking about the destruction that Harry _had_ left in his wake after ending the war.

"Well," Harry eventually said, desperate to change the subject, "Do you think that next time, you could find a less, er, violent way to inform me I've been a brainless idiot?"

"I believe I called you a brainless bastard," Malfoy informed him snidely. "But yes, I suppose I'll have to find another method. I wasn't fond of the consequences, satisfying though it was." He grimaced and rubbed at his head, before quickly smoothing his hair back into place.

"Yeah, what was that?" Harry asked curiously.

Malfoy stared at him in contemptuous disbelief. "You really went into this completely ignorant, didn't you, Golden Boy?"

He protested weakly, "I wasn't completely ignorant! Kingsley gave me a pamphlet…"

"A pamphlet." Malfoy looked completely incredulous. "You entered an extremely powerful, possibly permanent medieval bond with someone you hate after reading a pamphlet."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Kingsley made a good case for it," he muttered. "I've done far stupider things on far less information." An image of Sirius falling through the Veil flashed through his thoughts, but he resolutely pushed it to the back of his mind.

Malfoy just shook his head. "How did you defeat the Dark Lord?" he whispered disbelievingly.

"I had help," Harry replied, just as quietly. "I had Hermione, and Ron, and your wand."

Malfoy's hand flexed automatically. Harry felt stricken; he couldn't believe he had brought that up, shoving it in Malfoy's face that he couldn't have his wand.

"God, Malfoy, I'm- "

"Leave it," Malfoy broke it abruptly. "To answer your question, I'm not allowed to hurt you without feeling agonizing pain myself. I just hadn't realized it would be quite so… unpleasant. But it was worth it."

"I'll bet it was." Harry paused, looking up at Malfoy. "Would you like some lunch? You're looking better, but I think you still need a few Strengthening Potions for your ribs. And I might have a pain potion left if you're still feeling the effects of the bond."

"I don't think I should try mixing potions with the Vow," Malfoy said darkly. "I'm meant to feel the pain, the magic would probably make potions useless, or worse. But I wouldn't say no to a meal."

"Alright," Harry said agreeably. "I'll go fix us something. Afterwards, I could show you around, give you a tour of the house, if you felt up to it. I'm sure you must be sick of your room by now."

"That would be… Acceptable."

Harry nodded, and rose to head downstairs. "Oh, and here," he said, gesturing to the books in the pile, "These are all the books Hermione has been able to find that are related to the Code. You could look through them if you want, they're dead boring, but you might be able to pick out more than I could."

Malfoy peered over, a spark of interest appearing on his face. Harry left quietly as he began thumbing through the volumes, glad to see life finally returning to Malfoy's eyes.

He wondered how long it would be now before Malfoy drove him to lose his temper again.

* * *

Potter hadn't cursed him yet.

Draco had never felt more confused. Potter had had every opportunity, every excuse in the books, but he hadn't used magic yet.

He had been braced for it this morning. The past few days, sitting alone in his tiny room, he had begun to feel restless and antsy. He had actually missed Potter's presence in a strange way- the longer he went without seeing Potter, the more it felt like ants were crawling under his skin, centering firmly on the arm bracelets he kept hidden under long sleeves. It had unnerved him until he finally decided to venture out and go find him.

He had been aware that Potter probably wanted to see him even less than he really wanted to see Potter, and had known that startling Potter would likely end with Potter cursing him on instinct alone. But he went in search of him anyway.

Draco was unsettled, because in all his life he had never actively gone in search of pain and punishment. Yet he had done exactly that, out of boredom.

Maybe he really had lost his mind.

At that moment, Potter stumbled back into the room, carrying a large, heavy tray full of food. "I wasn't sure what you could eat yet," he panted, "So I just brought a bit of all of it."

Draco mustered up all the scorn he could into his tone. "Are you even aware that you are a wizard?"

Potter blinked. "What?"

"You carried all that up here. You could have Levitated it, or cast a Lightening Charm, or even just Summoned it. But you didn't even think to do that, did you?"

Potter continued to blink. "I didn't need to," he said eventually. "It's not that heavy. I could carry it."

Draco sighed impatiently. "_Yes_, but you didn't have to."

Potter cocked his head. "I'm not going to go around flaunting that I can do magic," he said slowly. "Not when I don't need to."

The unspoken _And you can't_ hung heavy in the air.

Draco shifted in the leather chair, sinking further into the cushy comfort as he tried to shy away from the conversation.

The movement caught Potter's attention. "Hey!" he exclaimed, moving further into the room and setting down the tray. "You're in my chair!"

Draco raised one eyebrow. "You weren't sitting in it."

"Yes I was," Potter insisted stubbornly. "Before I left to get the food, I was sitting there and reading."

"You weren't reading," Draco said instantly. "You were staring. Vacuously."

"You would use a word like _vacuously_ in an argument," Potter muttered. "Honestly, you and Hermione should get together and have a vocabulary fight."

Draco shuddered delicately. Potter finally looked angry, and opened his mouth to snarl.

"I like this chair," Draco interrupted quickly. "It's comfortable. And it's easy on my ribs." He flinched deliberately for effect.

The anger on Potter's face faded to annoyance, and then resignation. "Fine," he sighed, sitting on the couch. "If it'll get you to shut up and eat, then enjoy."

Draco was not sure whether the satisfaction he felt was due to his victory, or to Potter's word choice. But he decided that, just this once, he wouldn't question it, and would do what Potter said. He happily dug into his food in triumph.

* * *

"_No," he whimpered, staring helplessly at the broken mirror in his hands. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't think, I didn't know."_

"_Of course you didn't," Sirius replied easily, peering at him through the mirror. "You didn't bother to try asking me, how would you know I was safe? But that's alright; you were going to get me killed eventually. You caused all of our deaths, didn't you Harry? All the Marauders, dead because of you. Greatest prank the universe ever pulled."_

"_Sirius, please," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry, please don't leave me. I'll have nothing left."_

"_Harry," Sirius said kindly, "What in the world makes you think you deserve to have anything?"_

_The mirror exploded in his hands. "SIRIUS!" Harry screamed. There was no answer. The glass shards cut his hands until he was bleeding heavily. Moaning, he huddled on the ground, realizing suddenly that he was in his cupboard. _

"_Aunt Petunia!" he cried, his voice thin and reedy. "Please, let me out! I'm bleeding!"_

"_You can't come out, boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice bellowed. "You get people killed when you come out! You just stay in there and pretend you don't exist until it's true!"_

"_NO!" Harry was hysterical, rubbing his red and bloody hands over his face, blurring his vision. The walls were closing in, suffocating him, squeezing him tighter and tighter and tighter. "LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT! SIRIUS, PLEASE!" _

_The walls were shaking now, shaking him and he was screaming and Vernon was yelling and everything was dark and blurry, all but the gleaming silver and the piercing grey…_

* * *

"Bloody fucking hell," Draco muttered, scratching furiously. The itching was nearly unbearable at this point, to the point where he was lying awake in the middle of the night, trying desperately not to claw his wrists off.

Draco scowled. It had something to do with the Vow, he was sure of it now. For some reason, when he wasn't in Potter's presence he began to feel on edge and agitated, and even being in his presence only helped marginally. And it was getting much, much worse.

A shudder suddenly ripped through him. Salazar, he hated the idea of going to Potter for help, especially over this. He hated to admit that he was affected by this bond, and desperately wanted to ignore any and all side effects until they went away. Which unfortunately, they were not.

Feel a slight sting of pain, Draco looked down and noticed that he had managed to draw blood on his arm. Well, fine then. If he had to be awake, then Potter might as well be awake and as uncomfortable as he was. Decision made, Draco swung out of bed, leaving his tattered grey blanket behind, and hurried down the hall to Potter's room.

Raising his hand, he knocked firmly on the door, but was startled to find that no sound emerged no matter how hard he banged. "Potter!" he yelled, pounding even harder. "Potter, wake up!"

Nothing. Staring at the door, Draco abruptly realized why he couldn't hear his own knocking; Potter must have put a very strong Silencing Charm on his room. Irritated, he banged and yelled some more, hoping to cause enough noise to wear the spell out, as often happened with this particular charm.

Finally, he began to faintly hear the sound of his fist on the wood. Encouraged, he raised the other, not quite as sore hand, and prepared to launch another attack. Just as he was about to strike, however, a faint noise reached his ears from the room. Dropping his hand, he leaned against the door and listened closely.

It sounded like… Moaning. No, sobbing. Was Potter crying?

"No," he distantly heard Potter cry. "No, Sirius, no."

Draco reared back. Sirius? Sirius Black? Wasn't he Potter's godfather, the mass murderer who had died years ago?

Draco hesitated, unsure of what to do. He figured that Potter was likely dreaming, and he really didn't want to be a part of this. Turning, he made to move away from the door, ignoring the growing irritation under his skin.

Faintly, one word reached Draco's ears as if it were whispered. "Please."

Groaning, he gave in and angrily turned around, grabbing at the doorknob. To his utmost surprise, the handle turned easily under his hand, and he hesitated for only a brief moment more before pushing in.

It was dark, and it was difficult to see where anything was. The only light came from a strange glowing box that sat on the table by the bed, displaying the time in neon colors. Draco could tell the room was much more spacious than his, and cautiously moved his way toward the noise coming from Potter lest he trip over something. He stumbled into the bed and blindly reached out, groping for Potter's shoulder to shake him awake.

"Let me out," Potter pleaded, tossing and turning. "Please, Sirius…"

Finally, Draco felt skin and grabbed at it, realizing he had a hold of Potter's elbow. "Potter!" he called out loudly, shaking him roughly. "Wake up, Potter, you're having a nightmare."

Potter bolted upright, hand reaching up to grasp at the arm that held his elbow. Draco froze, sure this time he was going to get hexed, even as a wave of relief washed down his arm from where Potter's fingers clung to him.

"Please," Potter whimpered- he actually _whimpered_- holding onto Draco tightly. "Please, I'm sorry."

Looking closely, Draco could see that Potter was actually more than half-asleep, his vivid green eyes hazy and muddled with dreams.

"It's alright, Potter," he said quietly, praying distractedly that Potter would not remember any of this in the morning. "You're safe, you're just dreaming." Draco had plenty of experience with nightmares by this point, and was unsettled by the wave of empathy he felt.

Potter didn't seem to hear him. "Please," he pleaded, large eyes vulnerable and in a haze. "Don't leave me."

The request left Draco inwardly reeling. Potter never would have asked that if he were fully conscious. Draco momentarily considered shaking Potter until he woke up fully and demanding that he rescind the order, but looked again into Potter's wide and exposed eyes and faltered.

"Ok, Potter," he said softly. "It's ok, I'll stay." If pressed, he told himself he could always blame this on Potter's order in the morning.

He slowly climbed into the massive bed beside Potter, being careful not to touch him any more than where Potter was still clutching his arm. Potter, however, sighed deeply and moved so that his head was buried in Draco's shoulder, his fingers relaxing.

"Thank you," he whispered drowsily, his breathing evening out quickly as he fell back into a dreamless slumber.

Draco didn't answer. Relief seeped into him from the bond, freeing him from the maddening itch, as he had accepted Potter's command without fighting. Trying not to get too comfortable, he meant to leave and return to his room after Potter was asleep – technically, that wouldn't count as leaving, right? He was only going to another room – but the the warmth laying beside him and the peace growing inside him tugged him gently into the deepest sleep he had had in years.

* * *

_I want to say that every single review I get absolutely makes my day a million times better, so PLEASE, if you enjoyed this chapter and this story, drop me a review to let me know :)_

_Thanks to _lovergirl101, Don'tClimbOnThat, _and_ darkmoonlady_ for your reviews! I'm so glad you (and everyone else) are all enjoying this so far, and I love that you are dragging other friends into it! Isn't that what good friends are for?_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Ok, so I wasn't going to post this until Saturday, but I was so excited about the positive feedback from the last chapter that I decided to give this to you early. Cause you guys ROCK. In particular, I'd like to thank _Don'tClimbOnThat, _whose review made me so happyexcitedtouched that I sat down and wrote two chapters ahead of schedule, allowing this to be posted sooner. Enjoy! :D_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

When Draco was a very little boy, his mother gave him every stuffed animal he asked for. So, naturally, Draco had a massive collection. Most of the toys he ignored once he owned them, as he had only really wanted them because they weren't _his_. But a few of them were entertaining enough to be granted a coveted space on his bed.

There was the stuffed sphinx he named Egypt (he had thought he was quite clever with that one) who would tell him riddles and give him candy if he answered correctly. There was his toy niffler, Nifty, who he used to help him find his watch, which he was constantly losing because having something tight wrapped around his wrists had irritated him. He'd had a stuffed jarvey named Jackass; he didn't know what the word meant, but his jarvey would say it whenever his father was around and his father would turn red and look funny. Jackass was the only toy his mother had eventually confiscated (and wasn't THAT the biggest temper tantrum he ever threw).

But by far, his favourite stuffed animal, the one he slept with every night, was Puffy the puffskein. His mother was allergic to real puffskeins, but when Pansy Parkinson got one for her fourth birthday and Draco wanted one too, she got him the stuffed one, enchanting it to be even better than the real thing. Puffy would harden when he wanted a ball so he could practice Quidditch, or soften when he wanted to snuggle. When he had nightmares, it hummed and emitted a Soothing Charm to calm Draco. It was the most comforting memory he had.

One day when his father had been in a particularly bad mood, he had come across Draco playing with Puffy in his office. Draco was practicing his Beater skills, and was gleefully whacking the toy around the room. Not noticing his father's entrance, he accidentally sent it careening straight into his father's face. Enraged, Lucius exploded Puffy with a single _Confringo_. As Draco sobbed for his lost toy, Lucius Vanished the mess and cast a Silencing Charm on Draco. Holding his son's gaze, Lucius waited until the crying had stopped before lifting the charm. He said coldly, "Control yourself, Draco. Malfoys do not cry, and they do not rely on silly little toys to make them happy. What makes Malfoys happy?"

"Power," Draco whispered. "Prestige. Principles."

"Exactly," Lucius nodded. "Power, prestige, principles. Not puffskeins." With that, he shooed Draco out of his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

That night, Draco got rid of all of his stuffed animals. For the first time in his life, he slept completely alone in bed. When he woke up from a nightmare, he whispered, "Power, prestige, principles," over and over until he finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Draco went to bed alone and without comfort every night after that. Whenever he felt lonely or afraid, he refused to remember the warmth and security that Puffy had given him, instead repeating his father's mantra in his head. Eventually, he forgot what it was like to feel another comforting presence in his bed, and adjusted to his solitude.

Which is what made waking up with a sleeping Harry Potter in his arms quite so alarming. It felt foreign, and strange, and he knew that he should be much more upset about this turn of events. This was wrong; he should not feel so relaxed, so rested, so…fucking _content_. He should be shuddering away from his touch, should be shaking him awake and berating him for last night's order to stay, should be angry and disgusted and-

Potter snuffled in his sleep and buried his head deeper into the crook of Draco's neck. It felt… good. Thinking it over, Draco decided that he would not question the strange rightness he felt. It was probably just a side effect of the bond anyway. He felt no differently toward Potter than before, just… comfortable in the moment. He could live with that, it wasn't his fault.

Unconsciously tightening his arm around Potter's shoulders, Draco relaxed into the pillows and tried to decide how best to handle the coming day.

* * *

Harry resolutely did not want to wake up. He had never had a more restful sleep in his entire life, and he wanted to enjoy the comfort for as long as possible.

Living with the Dursleys, he had become an extremely light sleeper, as any creak from the stairs would wake him at a moment's notice, lest his Aunt or Uncle punish him for being lazy and sleeping in. The sound of the latch opening could mean an imminent prank from Dudley, and the snores from Vernon could mean it was safe to sneak out and try to steal something for dinner.

At Hogwarts, living in a dorm with four other teenage boys did not prove to be terribly peaceful. The room was a cacophony of snoring, sleep-talking, whispered conversations, and- well, other teenage boy activities. Couple that with his nightmares, and he rarely slept an entire night through.

Living on the run, of course, offered absolutely no peace. Harry had startled awake, battle-ready, at every single disturbance, and often would awake for no apparent reason at all. It kept him and his friends tired, but alive.

Even the past few weeks in Grimmauld Place had not proven restful. Harry's nightmares had increased and whenever he would awake, alone, he would inevitably panic and be unable to sleep for hours after. Often he awoke disoriented and, upon finding Ron and Hermione missing, he would shoot up and begin searching the house for them until clarity returned.

This morning, however, something was different. In his sleepy haze, he could not quite put his finger on what it was, but he was so relaxed he didn't care. He was warm, and his pillow was comfortable, and something smelled like apples, and a warm breeze was ruffling his hair…

Wait. He tensed suddenly, feeling the pillow under his head moving. And the breeze was moving back and forth, and something metallic was pressing against his shoulder-

Harry bolted upright, groping aimlessly for his wand, which was not under his pillow where he normally left it. In fact, his pillow was not where he normally left it. Peering around at the blurry shapes, he finally ground out, "_Accio_ glasses," hoping he would be able to locate his wand when he could see.

Scrambling to place his glasses on, Harry finally had to acknowledge the truth that he had been ignoring steadfastly since the moment he woke up: that someone was in his bed, and that someone was Malfoy.

Malfoy was lying down and hadn't moved a muscle since Harry shot up. However, the bright grey eyes staring at him steadily destroyed Harry's hope that he was still asleep.

"You did wandless magic again," he said calmly, cocking his head, his voice too loud in the silence, yet too quiet with Harry's heart beating away forcefully.

"I couldn't find my wand," Harry said eventually, once he cleared his dry throat enough to speak.

Still staring, Malfoy slowly sat up and rested against the headboard. Holding Harry's gaze, he lifted his hand and held out Harry's wand.

"I was afraid you would freak out when you woke up, so I hid it," he explained.

"Oh." Harry blinked, then accepted his wand cautiously. "Er, good thinking. Cause. Um. I might still freak out?" He winced as it came out as a question.

"I couldn't sleep last night, the Bond was agitating me. I came here and you were having a nightmare. I woke you up, and you asked me to stay," he said in a practiced, matter-of-fact way, as if it were normal and not cause for alarm.

"Asked you, or told you?" Harry said in a low voice.

Malfoy finally averted his gaze and didn't answer.

Harry felt his frustration begin to rise. "You should have woken me up!" he said angrily. "I never would have- I mean- this is so- wrong."

Something in Malfoy's face flickered briefly, before a look of anger and disgust replaced it. "My deepest apologies," he said. "I never meant to insult your delicate sensibilities. May I leave Your Lordship's exalted presence now?"

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, not noticing as Malfoy's eyes tracked the movement oddly. "Go," he said, irritated. Malfoy immediately launched himself off the bed and left, slamming the door shut loudly behind him.

Harry couldn't help but feel like something significant had just happened, and he had missed it.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Harry was oddly restless and irritable.

He did his best to avoid Malfoy, as the urge to bark orders at him became almost overwhelming when he was nearby. But somehow, Malfoy always seemed to turn up wherever he was: in the kitchen for lunch, in the drawing room when he was reading, even in the hallway as they passed each other for the bathroom. Each time Malfoy would sneer at him and walk back out, but still, his presence filled the room for hours after.

He needed to get out of the house.

Thinking it over while lying on his bed, Harry decided that tomorrow was as good as any to go and visit the Weasleys. He could have some time away from Malfoy, visit with his friends, and see if Hermione had come up with anything useful about the Vow.

Satisfied with his idea, Harry went in search of Malfoy to inform him of his plans. He checked the drawing room first, followed by the kitchen and the dining room.

He didn't start to panic until after he knocked on Malfoy's room and found it, and the main bathroom, completely empty.

Returning to the basement and going up, Harry methodically made his way through all of the rooms floor by floor, searching for Malfoy. He was on the third floor, halfway up the stairs to the top level, when he heard a noise.

Turning, he rushed back down and stared. Malfoy was standing in the middle of the hallway by a blank stretch of wall, looking at him with his customary derision.

"Lose something?" he drawled.

"Where the hell were you?" Harry asked in angry disbelief.

Malfoy twitched. "This is a big house," he evaded. "Lots to explore." He quickly walked to the staircase leading down, dismissing Harry.

The fury and the frustration rose in Harry. He caught Malfoy before he could descend and slammed him against the wall, leaning heavily on him and gripping his arms tightly when he moved in protest. "I was looking for you," he snarled.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as if unconcerned, but his pale face gave away his stress. "Well, you obviously didn't try very hard," he returned. "Honestly, I'm not impressed, My Lord. You used to be a better Seeker than that."

Harry slammed Draco against the wall again with more force this time. "Enough games," he gritted out. "Tell me where you were." He felt nothing but triumphant relief as Malfoy swore and fought for a moment before giving in, slumping against the wall.

"I was in the library," he answered in a monotone.

Harry was so surprised he nearly let go of Malfoy. "The library?" he echoed, confused. "This house doesn't have a library."

Malfoy looked at him contemptuously. "This is the Black family manor," he scorned. "Generations of Blacks have lived in this house, cultivating their Dark magic in these rooms and imbedding their secrets in these walls. Do you really think that they would leave such precious secrets lying around for just anyone to find?"

Harry stared at him, mystified. "Explain," he demanded.

Malfoy struggled not to respond, biting his lip so hard it bled. Harry watched one drop of blood trickle down over his lip and toward his chin. Without thinking, Harry reached out wiped it away with his thumb.

Malfoy's hands came up to grip Harry's wrists. He didn't push Harry away or pull him in, but simply held him there, tense as a wire.

The moment past in a bright white light as the bands around Malfoy's wrists shone suddenly and sizzled. Malfoy gave a startled gasp as the bracelets burned him and he groaned, "It's the blood, the Black blood."

Harry, stuck in his stupor, thought Malfoy was still talking about the bleeding lip. "It's not black," he said, confused. "It's red."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I have Black family blood," he said as if speaking to a toddler. "You do not. It allows me to see things about this house that you can't."

Harry was getting a headache from the stress and confusion. "But I own the house," he argued. "Sirius left it to me. The magic and the wards all respond to me- even Kreacher responds to me!"

"The magic of the house is forced to listen to you, as the owner," Malfoy explained. "But any secrets that belong only to the Blacks? Those respond to me."

"So what you're telling me," Harry said slowly, "Is that this house has a secret library that only someone with Black blood can see?"

"And probably enter," Malfoy confirmed, nodding. "Now will you let me go?"

Sense suddenly returned to Harry and he immediately backed away from Malfoy as if he was the one who had been burned. He looked between the bleeding cut on Malfoy's lip to the raw and blistered skin around his wrists and felt shame creep up and seize his throat.

"Malfoy," he choked, "I'm-"

"Will you stop bloody apologizing to me," Malfoy said through clenched teeth. He paused and took a deep breathe. "It's becoming tedious."

Harry felt helpless. He wanted to explain himself to Malfoy, but he couldn't. He couldn't even explain his actions to himself.

"What did you want?" Malfoy asked abruptly.

"What?" Harry said dimly.

"You were looking for me," Malfoy said, annoyed.

"Oh," Harry said. "Er. I'm going to go visit the Weasleys tomorrow, before they go back to- before they're gone. And I just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and maybe Hermione will have found something, something that can help us."

"Well, thanks for informing me," Malfoy said sarcastically.

"Did you- did you want to come?" Harry asked uncertainly. "You know, get out of the house, see other people, or… something?"

Malfoy looked at him with disbelief etched on his face. "You really must be feeling guilty," he said slowly, looking bemused. "No, Potter, I do not want to go with you to visit your little friends. No fresh air is worth that encounter."

Harry was inordinately relieved to hear Malfoy referring to him as Potter again. "Ok," he said. "Just thought I'd offer." He began to walk away, before saying uncertainly, "Um, Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked at him wearily. "What now?"

Harry paused, before he rushed out, "What would you like for dinner?"

Malfoy looked caught off guard. "I have a choice this time?" he asked, smirking slightly.

Harry's throat tightened again. "Of course you do," he said. "You always have a choice."

Malfoy looked away. "No, Potter," he said. "Not everyone always has a choice."

Harry waited until Malfoy met his gaze again. Jerking his head to the side, he gestured for Malfoy to follow him and they proceeded down the stairs together, each lost in their own thoughts of choices made and choices taken away.

* * *

_Thanks to _Death'sAngel18, lovergirl101, DustyWolf, rosez-have-thornz, darkmoonlady, Don'tClimbOnThat, AchillesTheGeek, drkmgic, Guest, _and_ Roslyn Drycof _for your wonderful reviews! You're all so awesome.  
_

_As always, please leave a review with your opinion, any questions you have, any thoughts... Basically, whatever you want to say, I want to hear. But especially compliments. As a human being, I enjoy those, and they make my days very, very happy ;)_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Argh, this took awhile. Summer courses are kicking my butt, sorry, so updates will be a bit slower. But here's proof that I'm still plodding on :)_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Harry did not sleep at all that night. He wasn't sure if he was more worried about facing the Weasleys as a whole after the whole birthday debacle, or just the individuals. He was nervous about Ron's reaction to Malfoy, and to being left out of everything for the past week. He was concerned about Mrs. Weasley and George, both of whom were not recovering well from Fred's death and might resent his presence in the house. And last but not least of the Weasleys was Ginny, whom Harry really, really, really wanted to avoid until he knew what exactly he wanted. Which, at this precise moment, he did not.

Ok, now his lack of sleep was making a bit more sense.

He dragged himself out of bed, nearly comatose, long before the sun rose. Attempting to relieve his stress, he returned to his Junk Room and released some nervous energy on the newest furniture and odd bits he had thrown in there. When he his wand buzzed around nine in the morning, alerting him that it was time for breakfast, he trudged his way to the fireplace, declining to eat as he knew Mrs. Weasley would likely stuff him full as soon as he arrived.

Clutching a fistful of Floor powder, Harry had never felt more apprehensive and stupid. He loved the Weasleys, they were the only real family he had ever had, and he knew they wouldn't turn him out now. But more than anything he hated the thought of disappointing them…

"Fuck," he cursed, shaking his head roughly. "Just do it, Potter," he muttered. Taking a deep breathe, he flung the powder into the fireplace and called out, "The Burrow!"

As he whirled away, bright grey eyes watched from the archway, thoughtfully eyeing the empty fireplace.

* * *

Harry stood still and stared around. The living room and kitchen were completely empty. Never, in any of the years that he had been coming to the Burrow, had he seen the kitchen without at least one Weasley in it, or at passing through. A tall pile of unwashed dishes was the only evidence that it had been used recently.

Nervously, Harry checked his watch, and saw that yes, it was Tuesday the 25th of August, at nine o'clock in the morning. They would not be on their way to Hogwarts yet, and although it _was_ early, surely someone should be awake…

Glancing around, Harry's gaze fell on the family clock hanging on the wall. Harry peered at it and saw that, as expected, the hands for Ron and Ginny were on "home" (as was, surprisingly, Percy's), while Arthur's was on "work" and Bill and Charlie's were on "travelling." However, Harry was uneasy to find that both Molly and George's hands were hovering over "lost."

Fred's, of course, had disappeared from the clock.

Harry quickly tore his gaze away from the morbid sight and began to climb the stairs to Ron's room. He passed no one on the way up. Unnerved, he knocked loudly on Ron's door and, relieved to hear a grumbled response, he strode in.

The sight that greeted him had him stopping short, horrified. Ears red and eyes burning, he quickly spun around to rush back out, only to be caught with his hand on the doorknob by Ron's sleepy, "Harry?"

Harry gulped. "Hey, Ron," he greeted, not turning back around. "Morning. Er… Hi, Hermione."

"Harry!" he heard Hermione squeak behind him. "This isn't – I mean, you shouldn't – Oh, Ron, shove over!"

"No," Harry heard himself say, "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I shouldn't have barged in, I'll just be downstairs with my head in the oven, come on down when you're ready-"

A hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. Harry gulped and let himself turn, keeping his eyes squeezed firmly shut.

"Oh, honestly Harry," Hermione said, sounding exasperated. "You can open your eyes, we're both fully clothed."

"I believe you," Harry agreed, nodding and keeping his eyes closed. "But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to just go downstairs and pretend none of this ever happened-"

"Mate," came Ron's voice from the bed, sleepy but amused, "Shut up and open your goddamned eyes. We're in our pyjamas, alright? Just sleeping."

Harry paused, before saying hesitantly, "Just sleeping?"

Hermione snorted in laughter as he slowly opened his eyes. "Honestly, Harry, what you must think of us," she said, teasing lightly. "We just sleep easier when we aren't alone, that's all."

"Oh." Harry nodded, relieved. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm pretty disoriented when I wake up and you both aren't there."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Apparently Ron had given up on sleep, for with a loud groan and a few grumbles he hauled himself out of bed.

"Alright, I'm up," he muttered. "Now get out so I can get dressed."

Harry scrambled to get out, Hermione following behind him. Awkwardly, Harry said, "So, I'll just wait in the kitchen…"

Hermione smiled at him happily. "We'll both be down in a minute," she said, giving him a quick squeeze of the hand.

Harry practically ran down the steps in his haste to escape.

* * *

Ten minutes later a fully dressed Ron and Hermione found Harry hiding in the kitchen, jerkily doing the dishes and muttering to himself.

Giving Ron a significant look, Hermione walked over to Harry and said, "You know Molly wouldn't want you doing that, Harry. The kitchen is _her_ area."

Harry shot her a grin and stubbornly continued scrubbing. "Well, no one else was doing them," he shrugged. "Besides, I like my hands busy."

"Well, take a break from doing my chores, would ya?" Ron laughed, sitting down at the table. "I'd like to talk to more than the back of my best mate, thanks."

Harry flushed and turned around. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his hands dry and smiling sheepishly at Hermione when he flung water at her accidentally. "I know I haven't been around, and I should have been. But things got a bit – overwhelming lately."

"Yeah, I heard," Ron said pointedly. Hermione looked between the two boys, gauging the sudden tension in the room, before smiling brightly.

"I think I'll go see about waking up Molly," she said cheerfully. "See if she's up to making us all a nice big breakfast this morning." Before Harry could protest, Hermione had vanished.

Harry snorted. "She's good at that."

Ron smiled fondly. "Yeah, she is, meddlesome bint." Glancing at Harry, the humour left his face suddenly and he looked serious. "Mate, we need to talk."

"Yeah, I know." Awkwardly Harry seated himself across from Ron and let the silence grow, fiddling with his hands. He and Ron weren't prone to talking things out, especially their feelings. At best, they would fumble through apologies and explanations, and a quick clap to the back would signify that all was well again in the world. But Harry knew that this time, he owed Ron more. He just didn't know how to say it.

"So, what has Hermione told you?" he began when it became apparent that Ron was waiting for him to begin.

"Not much," Ron admitted. "She explained about the dinner disaster – sorry about that, by the way, I would have told her it was a mad idea if she had mentioned it to me first – and that Kingsley somehow roped you into this whole Beaconian Code business, with Malfoy to boot." He looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry nodded, expecting as much. "Right. I had no idea what was going on, honest, or I'd have talked to you both about it sooner. But Kingsley kind of sprung this on me, and I didn't really have a choice in the matter. And then I had to take care of Malfoy, which is why I told Hermione, and I've been trying to get settled with him and everything, and- "

He broke off and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ron," he said seriously. "I should have told you sooner. I was just afraid about how you'd react to it, what with it being Malfoy and all. I didn't want to cause any more stress."

Ron nodded, accepting his apology easier than Harry had expected. "I'm sorry, too," he said.

Harry was confused. "For what?"

"For driving you away." When Harry began to protest, Ron shook his head firmly. "No, mate, we did. I told Hermione we should've listened to you when you said you didn't want a party, but… Well, I really didn't push too hard. I wanted to think that we could all have a party, a bit of fun, and forget everything and pretend life was normal again. But that wasn't fair on you.

It was too much, and I know that now. If we hadn't scared you away, none of this would've happened- or," he amended ruefully, "at least we would have been there with you when it did. This was out fault, too, and I'm sorry."

Harry sat there completely lost for words. Never had he imagined that not only would Ron forgive him so quickly, but that he would apologize for the fiasco of his birthday, something that obviously was not his fault. Harry's disappearing act was a result of his own issues, and it wasn't fair that Ron and Hermione had been hurt by it.

"It wasn't really your fault," he said finally, smiling slightly. "We both know Hermione can be…a force of nature when she sets her mind to something. And you were all just trying to help. Really, mate, I'm not mad."

Ron grinned back at him. "We ok?" he said, holding out his hand across the table.

Harry clasped it and laughed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "We're ok." He confirmed.

Magically, Hermione chose that exact moment to re-enter the room. Wearing an innocent expression that fooled no one, she took a seat next to Harry and smiled happily.

"Good," she chirped, "Glad to see you boys are getting along. Mrs. Weasley will be down shortly, and she's very excited you're here Harry."

"Great," Harry groaned, only half-joking.

"You know she just wants to take care of you," Hermione chastised.

"I know, I know," he grumbled.

"Hey, speaking of which," Ron started, slowly, "You said you had to take care of Malfoy?"

"Yeah," Harry said heavily. "He was in pretty bad shape from Azkaban. Beaten up, starved, sick… I didn't ask him for any details, but I think he's lucky to be alive."

"Blimey," Ron whistled. "Never thought I'd see the day I felt sorry for Draco sodding Malfoy."

"Ron," Hermione began in a warning tone.

"Language!" Mrs. Weasley finished, breezing into the room and waving a finger threateningly at Ron.

Ron shook his head good-naturedly. "Two peas in a pod, they are," he muttered sidelong to Harry, who grinned back at him.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed happily, pulling him from his seat and wrapping him in a firm hug. "What a lovely surprise! Have you left that horrid house behind, then? Oh, look at you, you're skinny as a bowtruckle! I'll go whip up something right now, just go sit tight and chat in the living room!"

Humming happily, Mrs. Weasley shooed them from her kitchen.

Taking a seat in one of the armchairs, Harry again glanced at the family clock. Mrs. Weasley's hand was still firmly sitting on "lost." Nodding his head at it, he asked Ron and Hermione lowly, "What's going on with the clock? She seemed… relatively happy, or at least better than before."

Ron's shoulders slumped and Hermione squeezed his hand. "She's not herself," Hermione said softly after casting a quick _Muffiato_. "She won't talk about Fred at all, and when she does she seems to think he's just away at Wheezes. George can't be in the same room as her, she gets a bit hysterical when she sees him alone."

"She keeps asking him what mischief Fred is up to this time," Ron said through gritted teeth. "We've tried telling her he's gone, but she just completely shuts down. Dad can't deal with it, he hardly comes home from the Ministry these days. And I've seen a look in George's eye that I don't like. I even caught him talking to his reflection once. I'm afraid- " he broke off, taking a deep breath, before continuing, "I'm afraid of what's going to happen when Hermione, Ginny, and I leave. It'll just be Mum and Dad and George alone here."

Harry was stunned. He had no idea that things had gotten so bad. His heart twisted for the pain they were going through, and he felt as helpless as his friends looked.

"Have you tried talking to them about seeing a Mind Healer?" he asked hesitantly, looking at Hermione.

She shook her head. "They won't hear of it," she sighed. "Bill and Charlie have been stopping by to try to help, and Percy took a few weeks off work to stay at home and spend time with George, but Molly won't face reality and George and Arthur don't care enough."

Harry was stumped. "I wish I knew how to help," he said weakly.

"Just being here is huge, mate," Ron said. "This is the first time Mum has cooked breakfast at the right time in a week."

Hermione nodded. "She does better when she has someone to take care of," she said sagely. "It's the only way she knows how to cope."

Harry wavered for a minute, hesitant to voice his thoughts and sound ridiculous. Gathering his courage, he said slowly, "I have an idea. It's mad, though."

Ron punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Finally," he beamed. "I've been waiting for another mad idea to help us."

Harry shook his head. "This time even I know it's a bad one," he muttered. "But if being around could help… What if I came by more often while you're all gone? And-" here he winced slightly, "What if I brought Malfoy?"

Ron stared at him. "Malfoy," he repeated. "You think bringing that slimy little ferret to my house is going to help my family get better. Harry. _What_?"

"You said it yourself, Harry," Hermione said anxiously. "Malfoy- he can't be civil, not to the Weasleys. It would just be an added stress."

"I thought that too," he admitted. "But Malfoy's been pretty subdued, comparatively. I think maybe I could get him to hold his tongue. And he's pretty damaged, Hermione. I think Mrs. Weasley would enjoy having someone else to take care of."

"How would you get him to hold his tongue?" Ron asked curiously. "Ordering him?"

Harry flinched. "No," he said automatically, "No, I don't ever want to do that…" Unbidden, images of a docile, complacent Malfoy rose in his mind. Harry immediately felt conflicting nausea and satisfaction.

"Well, you have to give him some orders," Hermione said contemplatively. "You might as well make it so that he's polite around Molly."

Harry gaped at Hermione as if she had lost her mind. "Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" he exclaimed. "Of course I don't have to order him around! I was talking about bribing him or something, make some kind of deal with him."

Hermione stared at him for a moment. "Harry James Potter," she said, frustrated, "Did you read a single book I sent you?"

"Of course I did!" he said, confused. "I mean, a lot of it was pretty dull, and I didn't really understand what it was trying to get across, but I tried!"

Hermione covered her face and groaned. "Let me guess," she said from behind her hands. "You've been trying desperately not to order him around, but keep accidentally doing it, and then you both explode."

Harry stared. "Um, yeah," he said. "That's happened once or twice."

Hermione dropped her hands and looked at him with an expression that was extraordinarily familiar- part fondness, part exasperation. "Harry," she said, suddenly gentle, "Whether you want to admit it or not, you are the master in a very old, very archaic slave bond. You can't just ignore that. There are certain obligations that you have, and consequences when you don't fulfil them."

Although Harry bristled at the word "master," he held back and listened. "Alright, explain," he said.

"You have to give him orders," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "In the Vow, you agreed to guide and educate him, and he agreed to obey and serve you. In order for you both to fulfil the Vow, you have to instruct him, and he has to listen. If you both try to ignore the bond, the Vow will make you."

Harry felt like the floor was vanishing beneath his feet. "How?" he asked feebly.

"You'll feel moody and short-tempered," she said. "You'll end up giving him orders without meaning to, and you'll take pleasure from making him obey. Malfoy will probably be compelled to seek you out and do anything you tell him to do. He'll be defiant on purpose –well," she amended, "More defiant than usual. And of course, once the Vow has been satisfied, you'll both feel horrible and defensive and will take it on each other."

Harry began to panic. "What am I supposed to do?" he moaned. "I don't want to turn him into my puppet!"

"You don't have to," Hermione soothed. "Once you start giving him orders, the compulsions will vanish. And they don't have to be big demands, Harry- just tell him to eat, or brush his teeth, or even be polite to Mrs. Weasley. Trust me, you'll both feel better, and it won't interfere with either of your free will terribly."

Harry's panic lessened, but his stomach continued to twist in knots. "I hate this," he said frankly.

Hermione patted his hand consolingly. "It isn't fair," she agreed. "None of it is. But maybe we can make it better, or at least keep it from getting worse."

"C'mon, Harry," Ron broke in suddenly. "You saved the world a few times- surely putting up with Malfoy should be a cakewalk next to that?"

Harry stared at him for a moment before the two broke out laughing in unison. "Yeah," Harry muttered, wiping a tear from his eye. "A fucking walk in the park."

Hermione watched them disapprovingly, but said nothing. "Well," she finally began when their laughter had died down, "Maybe we should think about your idea, Harry. At the very least having you around would be wonderful, and if you could keep Malfoy from being too horrid… It might actually work. We could at least ask Mrs. Weasley what she thinks."

"What I think about what, dears?" Mrs. Weasley queried, walking into the room and brushing off her hands.

"About the situation with Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quickly, shaking her head sadly. "You remember, how he and Harry are tied through the Beaconian Code? Apparently before this all happened, he was at Azkaban, and he was treated horribly. Harry's trying to help him get back on his feet, of course, but- well, you know Harry," she said, looking at him with exaggerated concern. "He can barely look after himself! The whole situation is just awful, really awful."

Mrs. Weasley blinked through the explanation, looking lost. However, her face gained animation at the end, and before Hermione had finished she whirled on Harry and exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me you were having trouble, Harry? Oh, I knew letting you go back to that dreadful place all alone was a mistake. You and Mr. Malfoy simply must move in immediately, I can clear out some space in Bill's old room and-"

"That's really generous, Mrs. Weasley," Harry broke in, glaring at Hermione. "But honestly, it's not necessary. Malfoy and I are settling in, and I'd hate to uproot him now. But… maybe we could stop by now and then? I'm sure you'll be able to feed him much better than I could."

"Of course," she beamed. "You can come by anytime you'd like, you know that. But are you sure you don't want to stay? We have plenty of room…"

Harry smiled at her warmly. "Thanks," he said, "But I'm sure. I think it would be cheating if I had you somehow manage to rehabilitate him, not me."

"Well, if you're sure," she trailed off, looking uncertain. When Harry nodded hurriedly, she smiled at him slightly. "Alright then. Into the kitchen with you, I'll go round everyone up for breakfast." She whirled away happily and was gone.

"Speaking of rehabilitation," Hermione said tentatively. "I know this is absolutely the last thing you want to think about, but Harry… You do know you'll need to make public appearances with Malfoy, don't you?"

Harry just looked at her, feeling exhaustion creep in. He had thought before coming here that Hermione would have comforting and helpful information; instead, he wanted to crawl back into bed and never come out.

"Why does he have to do that?" Ron broke in angrily on Harry's behalf.

Hermione looked miserable, but pressed on. "Well, he needs to show progress in 'rehabilitating' Malfoy," she said. "And he needs to set a precedent for how to treat the Dark Ones. You might even need to agree to an interview or two – No, don't look at me like that Harry, I'm not any happier about this than you. But you need to show everyone they can't take advantage of the situation. Wasn't that the whole point of this? To keep the public from abusing the Code, and to make a positive difference in the direction the Ministry is going?"

"Hermione," Harry began, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, "Think about what happened last time I went out. We were mobbed, and we were just getting a bite to eat. If I go out now –with Malfoy–" Picturing all of the people, yelling and jeering and screaming at him, Harry felt the walls begin to close in as his breathing became laboured.

"Breathe," Hermione soothed anxiously, hands fluttering as she resisted the urge to pat his back. She and Ron had learned the painful way that he did not appreciate being touched when he was panicking. "You're thinking too much. It wouldn't be like that, not at all! We'd arrange everything, Harry, I'm sure Kingsley would help, and there's bound to be a reporter we can rely on, no Skeeter necessary- "

"Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Give it a rest. We can talk about it later. Harry?" he said loudly. "Did you hear about what happened at the Cannons match?"

Harry stared at him, bewildered, still struggling to breathe. Black spots dotted his vision as he tried feebly to blink them away. "What?"

"It was bloody brilliant, mate," Ron said enthusiastically, waving his hands. "The Tornadoes were absolutely blowing them away, 120 to 10 after fourteen minutes. Then the Snitch practically bounced off Plumpton's ear, and Plumpton was just getting over that eardrum injury, couldn't hear worth a damn, and he thought it was a bludger for some reason so he whacked it away, and the thing flew at Jenkins who got confused and hit it straight to Gudgeon, who panicked and screamed and caught it in his mouth! Just like your first match!" he crowed triumphantly.

Harry blinked at him. "You're joking," he said at last.

Ron grinned. "Nope! We won, against the top team in the league! Pulled us out of last place! Rumour has it that Dorkins got so drunk celebrating he tried to snog a goblin."

Harry shuddered. "Thanks for the image," he groaned.

"Happy to oblige," Ron said cheerfully. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he announced, "We'd better go grab our seats before Mum gets down, she'll kill us if aren't waiting at the table for the food."

The three rose in unison and made for the kitchen, none commenting on the way that Harry's breathing had returned to normal. However, as Harry sat across from the pair, he held Ron's gaze and nodded slightly in thanks, while Hermione squeezed Ron's hand tightly under the table.

* * *

_Thanks a million to _lovergirl101, lookingthroughthemirror, Death'sAngel18, Don'tClimbOnThat, hpfan4evernow, Saiph, Hweekang, rain, Lena, _and_ flufferiferous_ for your bloody brilliant reviews! I'm so glad so many of you have been with me this whole time and keep loyally reviewing, and so happy to welcome any and all newcomers :) _

_As always, please review if you care at all about my happiness! ... Ok, maybe too dramatic. How about Drarry's happiness? =D_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Er. I realized I should probably warn you this has some H/G echoes. Sorry. (C'mon, people, it's canon, I have to address it at some point.) Also, bloody Merlin's balls, I must have re-written this conversation a dozen times, they both have a LOT to say, and none of it makes a lick of sense to anyone else. Here's hoping that that this time's the charm!_

_Per request, here is a summary of the highlights and happenings so far: Beaconian Code=bad, Draco recovering, Harry's nightmare, bad tempers, broken Weasleys, and Trio power! _

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

As the Weasleys trickled in and filled in the seats at the table, Harry grew more and more nervous, trying hard not to look at the vacant chair beside him.

He was startled by how empty and silent the room felt. Ron and Hermione were talking quietly together, and Percy had strode in dragging a pale-looking George behind him. He had plopped George down on Harry's right, sitting down on the other side of George with a stubborn look on his face. Harry felt the absences of Mr. Weasley and Fred more strongly than the presences of everyone else combined.

Finally, Ginny appeared, her mother following shortly behind. She paused for a brief moment in the doorway, and Harry cowardly refused to meet her gaze. After a moment she walked around the table and sat down next to Hermione, beginning a loud conversation with her.

Harry felt guilty over the instant relief that washed over him, but ignored it. He was getting much better at ignoring his guilt these days.

Breakfast was a tense and awkward affair. Harry tried to engage George in a conversation only once, but after meeting George's pale, vacant gaze for a few moments, he gave up with an inward shudder. Thankfully, Percy seemed to have taken over caring for George, forcing him to eat small bites of the eggs, sausages, and black pudding Mrs. Weasley had lain out.

Halfway through the meal, Harry gathered what little courage he had and raised his eyes to look at Ginny, hoping to catch her eye and silently convey… Well, something. Anything was better than this horrible avoidance and distance. However, she resolutely refused to meet his gaze, forcing Hermione into a long conversation about the Holyhead Harpies that had Hermione looking lost and slightly desperate.

Giving up with a sigh, Harry returned dejectedly to his plate, pushing the food around absently. Glancing back up, he noticed Ron looking at him sympathetically, mouthing "_Sorry, mate_." Harry shrugged back at him hopelessly.

The silence was broken by Mrs. Weasley as she suddenly looked up from her plate and scanned the table. "George?" she queried suddenly. "Where is your brother? You boys know better than to get into mischief at breakfast, it's far too early for that nonsense."

George stiffened suddenly beside Harry, one hand clenching on his fork and the other grasping desperately at the tablecloth. Harry glanced at him nervously, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. The table had gone deathly quiet as everyone collectively held their breaths, waiting to see who would break down first.

Nobody was looking at Harry. He used this to his advantage as he quickly grabbed the edge of his plate and threw it down onto the ground, where it shattered violently.

"Oh, shit," he cursed, pushing back from the table loudly. "Oh, sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he said desperately, looking up at her guiltily. "I didn't realize it was so close to the edge…" He dropped to his knees and began to pick up the pieces of the plate.

"Oh no, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Oh, don't worry about it dear, accidents happen, here stand up, you'll get glass all over yourself…"

With a wave of her wand, Mrs. Weasley repaired the broken plate and Vanished the mess. Harry apologized profusely and offered to help clean up, which Mrs. Weasley refused.

"No dear, it isn't any bother; I'll just make you another plate-"

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he said quickly, "But that's not necessary, I ate plenty. Are you sure you sure you wouldn't like some help…?"

"No," she said firmly, shooing him out. "Go on outside, it's a beautiful day, and you've been too cooped up as it is."

"If you're sure…" Harry trailed off, heading to the door. He shot a pointed look at Ron and Hermione, who hastened to stand to follow, with Ginny hesitating for only a few moments before she too stood and beckoned wordlessly for Percy to bring George.

In under a minute, the entire kitchen had been emptied into the garden, all blinking quickly under the bright sunlight with the cheerful humming of Mrs. Weasley ringing behind them.

"Well," Percy began primly, looking around at the small gathered group. "Is anyone up for a game of Quidditch, then?"

Everyone stared. "Quidditch, Perce?" Ron said in disbelief.

Percy drew himself up. "Well, why not?" he huffed. "It's excellent exercise, and a wonderful day for it. I'm sure we'll all enjoy a friendly, relaxed game." Harry didn't miss the way his eyes darted toward George for a moment, and suddenly understood his intention.

"Sounds good to me," Harry piped up. "I'll go grab the brooms from the shed." He quickly turned and headed off before anyone else could object.

The sounds of sibling squabbling over teams began and he smiled slightly to himself. Reaching the broom shed, he peered in and wrinkled his nose. The shed smelled exactly as it the last time he had been in here, and the number of spiders seemed to have multiplied. Ignoring them, he squeezed in and grabbed the nearest broom.

"That was sneaky," a voice behind him said softly. Harry jumped a mile and nearly gave himself a concussion on the low ceiling. "Fred would have laughed."

His heart in his throat, Harry turned and faced Ginny, who was standing even closer than he had realized.

"Er, yeah," he fumbled, taking a small step back and bumping into the wall. "I just, you know, didn't know how else to distract everyone…"

She smiled at him slightly. Distractedly, Harry noticed how smooth and shiny her hair was, and how it gleamed under the sunlight streaming in.

She reached for him suddenly. Unable to help himself, Harry flinched away.

Ginny stopped and stared. She reached for him again and this time, Harry forced himself to stay still.

"Your hand," she said, lifting it up into the light. "It's bleeding."

Harry blinked down. "Oh," he said. He hadn't even felt any pain, but assumed he had cut himself on the broken pottery earlier.

"Here," Ginny said evenly, drawing her wand and announcing, "_Episkey_."

The cut vanished, as did the lingering ache Harry had finally noticed. "Wait," he said suddenly, looking up and frowning. "You just did magic!"

Ginny's face grew cold. "Yes, well, I'm allowed," she said icily. "I did just have my birthday two weeks ago, after all."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Oh, God," he said in horror. "I completely… Er… I mean… Ginny…"

"You forgot," she finished for him. "I assumed as much, since you didn't show up to the party, or answer Hermione's letter, or even send me a measly card."

Harry cringed at the venom in her voice. Her anger was wholly justified, and he felt like a complete ass. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said weakly. "I was just so caught up in – well, everything – and I wasn't thinking. I swear, I didn't mean to ignore your birthday. I should have been here."

He wasn't sure, but he thought maybe her expression thawed slightly. Sighing gustily, she folded her arms and said, "I know, Harry. I know. You've been through a lot. And I want to be patient about it, and I want to understand. Merlin, I just wanted to talk to you about it all, but you wouldn't give me the chance. After everything, after it was all over, I thought you'd want to talk about things- talk about us. But I can count on one hand the number of conversations we've had since the Battle."

"Things happened to me, Ginny," he said, miserable and angry all at once. "This year changed me. I'm still coming to grips with everything; I didn't feel like sharing just yet."

She pinned with that hard, blazing look, the one that felt like it could strip layers off of him and read every thought in his head. "You think it didn't change me too?" she whispered, eyes glinting dangerously. "You weren't the only person in this war, Harry. We all suffered. And yet you never _once_ asked me what I went through this past year, what _I_ needed now. Well, I needed you to _be_ here for me, and you were just gone."

Harry felt trapped, suffocated. The broom shed suddenly seemed much smaller than it had been before. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't want things to be like this," he began awkwardly, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. "I thought the same as you. That after it was over, we could just… pick up where we left off, or something. But I'm not the same as I was before this all happened. I don't know what I want anymore. Things are different, and I don't know…" he looked at her helplessly, before forcing out. "I don't know if I can be what you need right now. I'm not ready to move on, Gin. I don't even know if I can."

For a moment, Ginny remained motionless. In the dark it was difficult to read her face, but Harry thought she was fighting for control of her emotions. Or maybe just fighting the urge to hex him, he didn't really know- those impulses often went hand in hand with Ginny. He just hoped she wouldn't cry, he couldn't handle it he made her cry.

"Maybe you're right," Ginny said abruptly. Harry was thrown; he had expected more resistance from her end. "Maybe we should take some time to- to figure out what we want. I'll be at Hogwarts anyway, and you'll be here with Malfoy, and we'll be too busy to focus on much else. We can work on ourselves for a while, and just… see where we end up. "

Harry's throat was tight. "I didn't want it to be like this, Ginny," he said in a low tone.

She gazed at him indecipherably, before looking away and blinking rapidly for a moment. "I didn't either," she replied, her voice rough.

"Friends?" Harry said softly, feeling ridiculous for voicing the sentiment but faintly desperate.

"Always." She smiled at him slightly, and if it looked a bit forced Harry could understand that. "Goodbye, Harry." Without another look back she walked out of the broom shed, the wooden door clunking shut behind her loudly.

Left alone in the dark and dusty room with Ginny's perfume lingering in the air, Harry replied, "Goodbye, Gin."

* * *

Harry gave himself a few minutes to pull himself together before taking a deep breath, coughing on the dust, and then grabbing the brooms to head back outside.

Approaching the small group, Harry was unsurprised to see Ginny was absent. Ron and Percy seemed to be deeply involved in some sort of argument about boundary lines, while Hermione anxiously watched George, who was staring off into space and absently twitching his wand in his hand.

"There you are, Harry," Percy broke off. "Thought you'd run off on us. Where's Ginny? I thought she went to find you."

"I think she went back inside," he answered, deliberately ignoring Hermione's quick probing look. "She didn't seem to be in the mood for Quidditch."

Percy huffed in annoyance. "Well then how are we supposed to play three on three?" he said irritably.

"I don't think anybody's in the mood for Quidditch, Perce," Ron huffed out, looking frustrated.

Percy puffed up. "Well, if anyone has a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it," he said snidely. "But frankly, I believe we've all spent too much time indoors, and it simply isn't healthy."

"I won't argue that we're all going a bit stir-crazy," Ron retorted, "But sending everyone up on brooms might not be the best solution!"

Percy sucked in a deep breathe, and then stopped short, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Yes," he said, almost nervously. "Perhaps you're right, Ron. I suppose that might be a bit too dangerous." Harry assumed he was talking about George, and expected him to look over at his absent brother. So he was completely bewildered when he noticed that Percy was glancing at _him_ uneasily out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, about to speak up, but was cut off by Hermione.

"Since we're all agreed, then," she said, giving Percy a very sharp look, "Why don't we help Molly by de-gnoming the garden? Since she made us a wonderful breakfast and cleaned up."

Ron's drawn-out groan turned into a coughing fit as Hermione elbowed him sharply in the gut. To avoid further punishment, he led the way to the garden, with only minimal grumbling under his breath.

Harry tried to walk next to Hermione to ask her what Percy was on about, but she quickly went over to George, leading him gently by the arm and following Ron. Left with nothing better to do, Harry and Percy followed behind.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was sweating and mumbling to himself, swearing violently as he sucked on his thumb. The gnomes had become even more vicious of late with everyone too busy to tend to them, and a particularly fat one had managed to bite him before he swung it away, tearing off a piece of skin. He examined his abused digit critically, wondering if he should ask Hermione to fix it as he wasn't particularly good at Healing spells.

A twig snapped behind him and Harry immediately tensed. In the split second before he physically forced himself to relax, Harry wondered how long it would take before the slightest sudden noise didn't send him into a minor panic.

A throat cleared quietly. "Harry," he heard Percy whisper, "Might I have a word with you?"

Harry turned and raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he said, cocking his head. "But why are we whispering?"

Percy glanced over his shoulder to where Hermione was struggling to remove a gnome that was clinging to her blouse and screaming. "There are some who would not wish for me to inform you of certain things," he muttered, turning back to Harry, "But I feel it is in your best interest, and in ours, that you do not remain in the dark."

Harry's eyebrows crept higher, but he nodded. He followed Percy, who clearly felt he was being quite sneaky, as he led them behind one of the overgrown Flutterby bushes, partially concealing them from the others.

After fiddling with his glasses for a moment, Percy began, "You should know, Harry, that you haven't been told any of this for your peace of mind. But to be frank, I'm becoming concerned, and feel it doesn't do you any good to remain unaware."

"Percy," Harry said impatiently. "Just spit it out."

Percy bristled, then nodded. "You are aware that we have been receiving your mail?"

Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry nodded slowly.

Percy looked uncomfortable. "Well, obviously, you've been getting quite a bit of it, and since no one has wanted to bother you with such things – and even if we did, you've been fairly unavailable – we've been sorting it ourselves. A good deal of it is the same, praise and thanks and gifts and such, but some of it -"

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted. "You all have been reading my mail? All of it?"

"Well, we have to determine if any of it is important," Percy said patiently. "Those from sources we recognize we put aside and don't read, of course, but most of it isn't from anyone we know. And we can't just throw it all out, not since that letter that whistled until someone opened it. I'm sorry if you feel as though your privacy has been violated, but really-"

"No, it's not that," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't care, have a laugh if you'd like. I meant, you shouldn't have to do that, that's loads of work!"

Percy shrugged slightly. "We take shifts," he explained. "And honestly, it isn't that bad, it's been quite boring around here."

Harry looked at him stubbornly. "It's still not fair," he insisted. "I'll ask Hermione if there's another way I can sort it, and at least have it sent to Grimmauld Place."

"It's up to you," Percy said. "Usually, in situations like this, the Ministry has a filtering system in place, spells you can be authorized to use and such, but with things in jambles at the moment, I suspect your extraordinary amount of fan mail has fallen in the list of priorities, and a lot of it is still coming through."

"Wonderful," Harry sighed. "Is that what you wanted to tell me about? That you lot have been going through my mail?"

"Well, yes and no," Percy said awkwardly. "You see, there's been a certain category of mail that has become something of an issue, and it's begun to increase, to the point where I simply no longer feel-"

"Percy," Harry began warningly.

"You're getting hate mail," Percy said bluntly. "And threats, nasty ones. There are some that are obviously from your average run-of-the-mill nutters, but more than a few have been extremely violent. Those have only increased since you took on Malfoy. And a few letters have been cursed themselves. I think the Ministry _has_ been stopping most of those, and our wards do prevent the worst from coming through, but one or two slipped by. While we're also the necessary precautions, it is becoming a concern."

Harry grew cold. "You've been getting my cursed mail?"

"As I said, we're being careful," Percy said impatiently. "But the threats are becoming more unsettling."

"Who's being threatened?"

Percy shifted. "The nature of the threats is not really as important-"

"Percy. Who."

He sighed. "Well, you of course. And now Mr. Malfoy is getting his fair share. And… there have been a few directed at us."

Harry stiffened.

"I only tell you this so that you know to be on alert," Percy said hurriedly. "I know you don't leave Grimmauld Place often, and that's probably for the best, but I thought you'd appreciate it if you knew. It does no one any good to be left in the dark these days."

Harry nodded distantly. "I'll have to strengthen the Burrow's protections," he said, mostly to himself. "And remove my own mail wards, so that it will stop coming here. And maybe ask Kingsley to set up a guard on the Burrow, and see if any of the letters can be traced-"

"Harry," Percy said sternly. "I told you, this isn't something we can't handle. I am not trying to make you feel responsible for any of this. I simply thought you'd appreciate to be informed. The others were adamant that you not be worried, but I disagreed."

"Thanks, Percy," Harry said seriously. "But I can't put this on all of you. I'll have to find a way to-"

"I'll be returning to work in a few days," Percy said suddenly. "What if I tried to speak to the Minister about putting a bit more effort into screening your potentially dangerous mail?"

"I like the idea of the Ministry sorting through my mail even less than I do you lot," Harry muttered darkly.

Percy shook his head. "They could arrange it so that any mail from a list of people you approve of could be sent to you unread," he explained. "The rest of it would be scanned for magic and skimmed for intent. Harmless, really. And the Minister would put good people on it."

Harry hesitated. "Would he do that?" he said finally. "Like you said, it seemed to me that he has other priorities at the moment."

Percy gave him a look that was almost pitied. "Harry," he said plainly, "You could ask the Ministry for anything at this point and they would go through hoops to get it for you. As shaky as everything is right now, your opinion and support could do wonders for the Ministry's reputation and stability- or it could destroy it. They'll do this for you, trust me."

Finally, Harry agreed. "If you could do that, it would be great," he said. "But I'll still feel better if there's extra protection."

"Speaking of which," Percy frowned, "What did you mean, you'd have to strengthen the Burrow's protections? They were put down by the Ministry, and by Dumbledore himself. There's not much you could do on your own."

Harry was at a loss. He didn't want to explain to Percy about how his magic had grown out of control since the Battle, especially since he hadn't said anything to Ron or Hermione yet. He still wasn't sure what exactly was going on yet, and he didn't want to worry them if he didn't have to.

As he struggled to find some excuse, a series of loud and strange-sounding explosions erupted violently behind them. Ears ringing, both dove from behind the bush toward the sound as Hermione screamed.

Harry stopped short at the sight that greeted them. Kneeling by the edge of the pond in a circle of blackened weeds was George, covered in soot and burns and looking barely conscious. His wand was still in his hand as he trembled and stared at his reflection in the water.

Percy and Ron approached him, both hesitating to touch him lest he begin blasting things again. "George?" Ron said tentatively, crouching down next to him. "You don't look so good, I think you managed to hit yourself. What did the gnomes ever do to you, eh?"

George looked up slowly, still trembling. When he met Ron's gaze, he said hoarsely, "He only has one ear. Why does he only have one ear?" With that, his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed forward bonelessly into Ron's supportive arms.

Looking down at George's motionless body, Harry felt a fear he hadn't known since his long walk through the Forbidden Forest rise up. He was paralyzed by it, utterly frozen and useless.

"George?" Ron said frantically, shaking his brother. "George!" He looked up and his eyes were desperate and frightened.

George did not respond.

* * *

_A/N: Wow, I'm mean. Lovely cliffhanger, wasn't that? I honestly didn't mean to leave it here, but this was the best place to break, considering what happens next. (Don't worry, Draco's coming back. I can FEEL your impatience.)  
_

_As always, thanks to _Jest MEEK, Death'sAngel18, Don'tClimbOnThat, AchillesTheGeek, DauntlessShadowhunter13, lovergirl101, Silver-Stars-22, ASH.l.e.11, MadAndInBloom, Rufescent, lookingthroughthemirror, _and_ LoveNewFantasy _for your beautiful reviews! I swear, every time I get a new one, I squeal. No matter where I am. It's made for some awkward explanations, let me tell you. =D  
_

_Keep 'em coming, and I pinky swear the story will keep coming! :)_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: OH. MY. GODRIC. We hit 100 reviews! Guys, I am SO grateful. I want to celebrate, but I don't know how. Any suggestions?  
_

_Last Chapter: Harry talks with Ginny, with Percy, George explodes, oh my!_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Potter had been gone all day, and Draco was starting to get pissed off.

It wasn't as though he missed the bastard or anything; on the contrary, it had been a welcome relief to have time to himself. No Potter to bother him about taking his potions, or to nag him about eating constantly, or to give him careless orders and stare at him at odd times and kick him out of a comfortable bed…

Draco clutched his ratty blanket close, warding off a shiver. Merlin's balls, but he was cold. Likely he could blame that on Potter as well; not long after Potter had left he had begun to feel uncomfortable, followed closely by the now-familiar itching. Hours later and a bone-deep chill had settled in. The metal around his wrists was icy and sucking away the little warmth the fire gave him.

He was miserable. Draco was unsettled to realize he had grown accustomed to being comfortable again; in the last few months, miserable had been a normal state. Naturally as soon as he began to get comfortable Potter would remind him with his mere absence how much he depended on the Golden Boy, how much of his relief was artificial.

Really, it was just like Potter, to forget he had obligations to other people. Probably laughing the day away with his little bootlickers, completely uncaring that Draco was alone and suffering from the damned Bond. And he was bored, too. Some of the books in the library had looked interesting, but what was the _point_ in hiding in the library all day, where Potter couldn't find him, if Potter wasn't even here?

It was now long past dinnertime. Draco sat alone in the kitchen and fumed. He was hungry, and would never bother waiting for Potter to eat, but the idea of eating made him nauseous.

_Damn you, Potter,_ he thought furiously, pacing and rubbing his arms. The real kick of it was that without his magic, there was no way he could punish Potter- nothing he could do to make Potter as miserable as he was when he finally deigned to grace Draco with his exalted presence. How fervently he missed the days when he could simply hex any irritation away… He never thought he'd have cause to miss the sodding Jelly-Legs Jinx of all things…

Well, he decided viciously, if he couldn't use magic to make Potter's life unpleasant, _he_ would have to be unpleasant. Make loud noises at night to keep him from sleeping, complain about the food, alternate between stinging insults and silent treatments… See how far he could push Potter before he exploded, then strategically escape to the library where it would be safe…

Draco grinned maliciously, picturing Potter's stupid face twisted with exhaustion and misery. It would be wonderful, it would be satisfying, it would be-

It would be emerging from the fireplace right now.

Draco blinked in confusion. He wondered if his vivid imagination had once again conjured a hallucination out of his thoughts. But no, he hadn't had his strange visions in almost a week, and Potter's tired, haggard face was too realistic, as was the mild relief Draco felt from his own nausea and itching.

"Potter?" he asked reluctantly, still livid but also mildly curious. Only mildly, of course. For what could have possibly made Potter look so distraught at the home of his wonderful Weasels?

Potter stared at him through eyes that were bloodshot and dry. He didn't answer, but took a step forward and stumbled.

Instinctively, Draco darted forward and caught him roughly by the shoulders, allowing the blanket to fall at his feet unnoticed. _Only the Bond_, he chanted silently to himself as he struggled to ignore his own reaction_. The Bond is making you care, can't let Potter get hurt, why is he so upset, only the Bond…_

He dragged a half-conscious Potter to the nearest kitchen chair and plopped him down unceremoniously. Potter simply shuddered and hunched over, burying his head in hands and shaking.

Draco only had a moment to stare down at Potter, wondering what he was supposed to do now, when the sounds of the Floo flared up behind him again. He whirled and backed away a few steps, suddenly afraid.

The fear only turned to tension when Granger stepped out, brushing soot off her blouse and hurrying to kneel by Potter.

"Harry," she said anxiously, hands fluttering as she struggled with her desire to comfort him. "Harry, look at me."

Potter slowly lifted his head, and Draco flinched involuntarily at how waxen and unfocused his gaze was.

"Malfoy," Granger said calmly without looking at him. "Could you please come over here and take Harry's hand?"

Draco actually shook his head for moment as if to clear the crazy away. "Excuse me?" he said stiffly.

Granger finally looked at him over her shoulder, brushing her thick hair out of her way absently so she could see him. Her expression did not change as she explained evenly, "Harry has had a rough day, and I think his absence from you made it worse. I made him come home when he became nearly catatonic. I'm hoping your proximity and direct contact will help ease the worst of it."

Draco thought seriously about arguing for all of a second. But he made the mistake of looking back at Potter's face, which remained pallid and unresponsive. Gritting his teeth, he approached slowly, taking care to keep a sizeable distance between himself and Granger. The twist of her lips told him she noticed, but she declined to comment.

Blowing out a breath, he focused again on Potter. He refused to kneel, and instead reached down and awkwardly took Potter's right hand in his own.

Nothing happened for a moment, and Draco felt ridiculous. Then in an instant, warmth rushed up his arm and eased his discomfort. Draco gasped, caught unaware, and tightened his hold. Desperate for the warmth he reached down and seized Potter's other hand in his own.

Potter stirred and blinked. His face slowly regained some colour as his hands flexed and tightened around Draco's. Still looking wretched, he looked up and met Draco's gaze, before he said hoarsely, "Malfoy?"

Draco held his gaze and nodded slightly. Potter broke the stare to look around. Seeing Hermione still kneeling beside him, clutching her own hands tightly, he looked only more confused. He cleared his throat before saying, "Hermione? What… What's going on?"

"Do you remember what happened today, Harry?" Granger asked gently. "At the Weasley's? With George?"

Potter's grip became almost painful. "Oh God, George," he breathed. "Is he…"

"He's at St. Mungo's," she said quickly. "But the Healers expect him to make a full recovery, physically."

Draco felt the need to interject. "Physically?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

Granger gave him a quick glance before looking back at Harry, cocking her own eyebrow. Potter twisted his lips for a moment, darting a look at Draco, before giving a half-shrug and nodding. Granger huffed out a breath, shaking her head slightly, and then smiled slightly at Potter, which he returned.

Draco was absurdly put out to realize they had just had an entire conversation without him, and likely about him, all without saying a word.

Before he could get irritated, though, Granger turned and answered him. "George lost his twin, Fred, in the Battle," she said steadily. "He hasn't been well since, and today something set him off. He saw his own reflection and reacted badly, exploding everything around him and getting himself fairly severely burned in the process. We've been at St. Mungo's for most of the day while they evaluated him and did their best to Heal the worst of the burns. We were all so focused on George and Mrs. Weasley that none of us noticed how distressed Harry was until he stopped responding to us."

Potter made an embarrassed noise. "Sorry," he muttered, looking up at Granger guiltily. "I didn't mean to make a fuss."

"Nonsense," she replied briskly. "We weren't thinking is all. But there's nothing you can do for us now anyway. George will probably be admitted, at least for the night, and the rest of us will go home to have a rest. You just need to relax and get a good meal in you. I'm sure you and Malfoy have plenty to talk about later-" again she glanced at him, before turning back to Potter, "But all that can wait. I'll keep you informed on George's condition, but now I think I should get back for Ron."

Potter nodded but made no move to stand. Draco, upon realizing that they were still holding hands, quickly drew away and took a few steps back, instantly feeling the loss of the warmth and peace.

Potter didn't react. "Thanks, Hermione," he said. "Go on, we'll be fine here."

"I know you will," she smiled softly. Turning to Draco, she tilted her head and said, almost impishly, "Take care of our Harry, will you?"

"Granger," he said, feigning surprise, "What makes you think I need to take orders from _you_?"

He was unnerved by the profound consideration she gave him. "That wasn't an order, Malfoy," she said quietly. "And you didn't refuse."

Draco scowled at her, opening his mouth for a retort. Before he could say anything, however, she gave a little wave and jumped into the fireplace, disappearing with a whirl of, "St. Mungo's!"

There was a brief awkward silence in which Draco refused to look Potter in the eye. He was struggling with his residual feelings of resentment and spite, and the desire to lash out at Potter was still there, simmering slowly under his silence. But below all that, aiding his restraint, was a hesitant sympathy for Potter and, even deeper, a shame at his own misjudgement. Draco knew that, when faced with such a confusing mix of emotions, he would automatically fall back on anger. So he kept his mouth shut.

"Well," Potter said eventually, pulling his attention back, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Did you eat already?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "It's nearly nine o'clock," he drawled.

Potter nodded, looking slightly chagrined. "Right, sorry. I lost track of time, or I would have joined you. I'll just grab something from the cupboard-"

"It just so happens," Draco interrupted, "That I also lost track of the time, and forgot to eat as well."

Potter smiled weakly, his face still too pale. "It's a miracle we stay fed," he joked. Sighing, he dragged himself to his feet, only swaying slightly. "Well, are you in the mood for a full meal, or will some Preserved soup do?"

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste, but merely sniffed and said, "I suppose I can't expect much more from you right now."

Potter grinned fully this time. "Not every meal can be gourmet," he snorted. Turning, he tossed over his shoulder, "Do you want to grab a seat? I'll just go get us some bowls."

Impulsively Draco reached out and grabbed Potter's arm. Potter stopped, but did not flinch. He looked back at Draco, his head cocked, waiting.

Draco found himself at a loss for words. Ignoring the warmth cascading up his arm, he stuttered, "Just – I just wanted to–" he stopped, took a breath, and continued quickly, "Thank you. For not making it an order again. I know it's- not entirely easy, on your side. So, well. I said it."

Inexplicably, instead of making Potter smile at him again (_That hadn't been the goal, not at all, he was just feeling- unusually_ _generous_), Potter's face twisted into a strange mixture of guilt and evasion. Gently pulling his arm free, he nodded jerkily and said, "Right, well… dinner."

Draco stared, perplexed, as Potter made a hasty exit to the pantry. The abrupt rejection of his attempt at humility left him feeling bitter, confused, and alone.

Favouring his empty feelings over his empty stomach, Draco whirled around without a word and fled up the stairs to his room.

Emerging from the pantry with two bowls of steaming-hot soup and a false smile plastered on his face, Harry faltered at seeing the empty room and deduced that once again, somehow, he had failed.

* * *

_Harry was alone this time as he walked through the Forbidden Forest. He spun the Resurrection Stone over and over, but no one ever came, no one was there. He was able to feel every crunch of leaves under his feet, hear every whistle of the wind through the trees._

"_Draco," the wind whispered to him as he walked on endlessly. "Is he alive? Is he alive? Is he alive?"_

_Harry sped up. He wasn't walking toward something anymore; he was running away from it._

"_Is he alive? Is he alive? Is it him? Is it Harry Potter?"_

_Harry stopped. Somehow he had ended up in Malfoy Manor, still alone. But as he peered around at the dark purple walls, he once again saw the crystal chandelier shimmering brightly at him. He stumbled over to the mirror above the fireplace and reared back, stunned. The eager, hungry face of Lucius Malfoy peered back at him, grinning maniacally. _

"_Come closer!" he cried, leaning forward and looking excited. "Look at him carefully, look! Is it Harry Potter?"_

_Harry took a step back, shaking. "You're not here," he mumbled, clutching the Stone tightly between his fingers._

"_Of course not, of course not!" said Lucius impatiently. He continued to stare at Harry, a maniacal grin on his face. "What did you do to him?" he asked._

_Harry was blind-sided. "Wh-what?"_

_Suddenly, something tugged on the foot of his robes. Gasping, he turned and saw Narcissa Malfoy kneeling at his feet, her head bowed._

"_Is he alive?" she whispered. _

"_What did you do to him?"_

"_Is he alive?"_

"_What did you do to him?"_

_Footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of another person. Harry whirled, his heart pounding frantically, only to feel it skip a beat._

"_Is he alive?"_

"_What did you do to him?"_

"_I don't know," Draco said peacefully as he approached, not looking at either one of his parents. Instead, he stared at Harry, lights flickering in his grey eyes. "I can't be sure."_

_The echoes of the elder Malfoys faded. It was just Harry and Draco in the drawing room, locked in an embrace that held only their eyes. _

_Frozen in the moment, Harry clutched the Stone tighter in his hand. Only it wasn't the Stone anymore. Breaking his gaze, Harry looked down and saw a silver dagger clenched tightly in his grip. He looked up at Draco, frowned quizzically, and stepped forward. Placing one gentle hand on his shoulder, Harry thrust the dagger deep into Draco's chest._

_Harry paused. "Are you all right?" _

_Draco cocked his head, considering. Blood oozed out from where the weapon was buried in chest, slowly dripping down to land on the pristine floor._

_Looking up at Harry, who continued to cradle his shoulder, he said calmly, "I can't be sure."_

* * *

Harry choked on a half-emerged scream as his eyes flashed open, panic and disgust clawing at his throat. Wheezing in a breath, he shot up, blurry vision taking in nothing of his dark surroundings. Harry fumbled for his glasses, only to realize belatedly that his wand was already clutched is his hand. After restoring his vision, he concentrated for a moment on slowing his breathing back to normal.

A few moments later, he had just gotten his heart rate to slowly climb down when furious pounding sounded at his door. Flinching, he clutched his wand tightly again before realization dawned.

"Er, come in," he called out hoarsely.

The door flung open as Malfoy stormed in. Even dressed in Harry's pyjamas and clutching a raggedy old blanket, he still managed to wear an air of indignity and outrage that would make any Pureblood proud.

"If you cannot control what goes on in that tiny little head of yours, I would appreciate it if you invested in stronger Silencing Charms," Draco snarled. "Some of us find it difficult to fall asleep to the soothing sounds of blood-curdling screams."

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry," he sighed, waving his wand and renewing the Charm that had, indeed, failed. "They seem to be becoming less and less effective."

Malfoy was in a full-blown sneer. "Do us all a favour, Potter. Keep your failures – and your nightmares – to yourself," he scorned, spinning to leave in a huff.

"Draco, wait," Harry said, feeling miserable and antsy, still seeing the echoes of his dream.

Malfoy froze, completely rigid. After a moment he turned around slowly, an utterly odd look on his face. Harry was confused by his reaction until he realized he had given him a command again- something he had just hours ago thanked Harry for not doing. He groaned to himself, before saying aloud, "Look, about earlier- I'm sorry if I acted strangely, I had a rough day and got a lot of bad news. I didn't – I wasn't trying to- " He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

Before he could pick up again, Malfoy spoke. "It's alright," he said, the strange look still on his face. "I was tired as well. Which is why I would appreciate a full night's rest tonight, if at all possible."

Harry hesitated for a brief moment. Looking down at his hands, seeing _I must not tell lies_ gleaming at him in the moonlight, he took a deep breath before he said, "Would you want to sleep in here again? That isn't an order at all," he continued hastily, his cheeks burning. "Only- well, we slept pretty good last night, and I didn't have another nightmare, so I was thinking maybe it's worth a shot…" He dared to glance up to gauge Draco's reaction.

Malfoy was gaping at him. When he realized Harry was watching, he clamped his mouth shut and instantly pulled up his defences, asking snidely, "Are you a child, Potter?"

"You're right," Harry instantly agreed, feeling absolutely humiliated. "It was a stupid idea, don't know what I was thinking, I'll just-"

"No, I- Dammit, Potter," Malfoy groaned, looking exasperated. "Oh, just budge over."

Harry stared, disbelieving. "I- Really?"

"I will shove you if I have to," he warned dangerously.

Harry nodded hurriedly. "Right, ok." He scooted to the far side of the bed, leaving plenty of space between himself and Malfoy in the giant bed. He watched, stunned, as Draco roughly climbed into his bed – _his bed_ – and jerkily pulled sheets, along with his old blanket, over himself, muttering quietly all the while.

When he had settled and the silence had grown, Harry stared up at the ceiling, in utter shock at what he had suggested and what Malfoy had agreed to. Glancing over at rigid lump that lay curled away from him, Harry asked quietly, "Are you ever going to tell me about that blanket?"

"Are you ever going to go to sleep?" came Malfoy's muffled retort.

Harry nodded to himself, acknowledging that it was too soon. "G'night, then," he yawned, snuggling into his pillow.

A minute later, when Harry finally began to feel the lulling draw of sleep, his response came. "Goodnight, Potter," Draco whispered softly, relaxing slowly into the bed.

Both enjoyed a second night of peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

_A/N:THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to _AchillesTheGeek, Jest MEEK, lovergirl101, lookingthroughthemirror, Death'sAngel18, Pheonixs1518, DauntlessShadowHunter13, CuriousReader, hpfan4evernow, AlteaAuroraRia, apolo313, July, IReallyLoveCoke, _and_ Natalia _for your reviews last chapter, and fro helping me reach *100* reviews! God I love you people :)  
_

_For those of you who are interested/curious/bored, I got the actual floor plans I have been using for Grimmauld Place off the Harry Potter Wiki, as I do all my information that doesn't come straight from the books. (Trust me, I've thoroughly researched A LOT of stuff, considering. This is how I confirmed that the Black family library was not, in fact, canon, although I too thought it was for the longest time. tried to add the link but FFNet is too tricky for me.)  
_

_On the same note, just in case there's something copyright-y about all this, I did indeed use the exact wording from Deathly Hallows for a lot of the dialogue in the dream scene- echoes of Harry's past and all that. So don't yell at me, I'm not getting paid for this stuff. Except for with love. And your REVIEWS!_

_So, yeah. If you made it this far, please make my boring day spectacular, and review. Hugs and snuggles :)_


End file.
